“Oh, I’m sure our paths will cross sooner than you think,” Tom replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you leaving London once you’re married?”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” Louisa replied cryptically, “you are.”
“What do you mean?” Tom stared at her as if she had gone mad. “Is your uncle coming after me?” He seemed suddenly nervous, but Louisa gave him a warm smile.
“No, Tom. I try to fight my own battles whenever possible; it’s more efficient that way, not to mention more discreet. But, I won’t let you hurt me ever again.”
Tom was about to say something when his hands started to shake, his pupils dilating in the dim light of the room. He grabbed his stomach as if trying to hold in his guts, but the pain only increased, forcing him to double over, moaning.
“What have you done?” he croaked as his body began to convulse.
“I put ground yew seeds into the wine. Did you know that many English graveyards have yew trees? There’s a particularly impressive one in All-Hollows-by-the Tower cemetery. They seem to represent death or some such nonsense. My nurse told me that. She was very knowledgeable about such things, but then you don’t really care about that, do you? You don’t care about anything other than your own ambition and lust.”
Tom tried to say something, but his eyes were bugging out of his head, his body shaking uncontrollably. It wouldn’t be long now. Bridget said that yew killed very quickly if properly administered. Louisa felt a pang of guilt as she watched Tom’s agony, but there was no turning back now. She hadn’t really wanted to use the seeds, but Tom’s cruelty had forced her hand. All she’d really longed for was to hear that he loved her and would never forgive himself for letting her marry another man. Instead, he had been vicious and menacing, his heart untouched by the child growing inside her womb.
Tom slowly slid to the floor, a look of astonishment on his frozen features. He was just as beautiful in death as he had been in life, but there was no time to dwell on that. The church bells were ringing, and it was time to go back home before anyone noticed her gone. Louisa rinsed out the cups with some water from a barrel in the kitchen, and poured out the wine under a bush behind the house. No one would know how Thomas Gaines died, least of all his intended.
Louisa took one last look at Tom’s face, his blue eyes so beautiful now that all malice was gone from his expression. He looked so young as he sat on the floor, his back propped up by the settee and his arms still crossed over his belly. She had been in love with the boy she knew in Virginia, but this Tom was callous and cruel, eager for whatever power he could grasp, even if it meant stooping to blackmail. She supposed he always had a mean streak, but life at Court had brought it out into the open, the constant back-stabbing and maneuvering of the courtiers all the encouragement Tom needed to embark on a life of social climbing at any cost. He had implied that he knew something about Uncle Kit, smirking as he mentioned him in the same breath as the Duke of Buckingham, but now he’d never get to use the information against him. Whatever he knew would go to the grave with him, just like Louisa’s own indiscretion. Tom couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.
Louisa closed the curtains, plunging the room into semi-darkness. She wasn’t sure why she did that, but it seemed appropriate somehow. She took one last look around before letting herself out of the house and hurrying down the street, her mind surprisingly blank. She expected to feel remorse, fear, agony of loss, possibly even triumph, but what she felt was absolutely nothing.
Chapter 60
Susanna allowed the letter to glide into her lap as she stared at the achingly beautiful sunset just visible over the walls of the fort. The evening sky seemed to be ablaze with fiery color, almost blinding in its intensity as it tinted the dull stones of the fort a dazzling pink, transforming it into something unexpectedly lovely for a few short moments before darkness began to settle over Staten Island returning the fort to its normal state of serviceable ugliness.
Susanna rose to her feet and went to stand by the window, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort and warmth. Her sister’s joyous news should have made her happy, but instead she felt as hollow as an old tree, the husk still standing tall while the inside was empty and barren. Laura was pregnant with her first child, her letter bursting with joy and excitement, the words urging Susanna to be happy for her, but bitter tears stained her cheeks as she imagined her sister’s infant. It’s not that she didn’t wish Laura all the happiness in the world; it’s just that she was beginning to feel as if happiness had passed her by, choosing instead a more worthy candidate. She’d never felt as lonely as she had since Laura married Bradley and left her alone, forcing her to follow their father to America for lack of a female relative to stay with. Susanna found satisfaction in helping her father tend to the patients and seeing them recover, but the ones that didn’t, left her heartbroken and bereft, reminding her of how fleeting life was and that happiness needed to be snatched with both hands before it was too late.
The irony was that she was constantly surrounded by men, but none of them warmed their way into her heart. There had been several officers who tried to court her, but she either wasn’t interested in them or they were turned off by her lack of feminine guile and tendency to speak her mind. Sometimes she wished she could be more like Laura, who regarded flirting as a sport, and frequently downplayed her own intelligence to make her husband feel superior. Susanna had to admit that although it made her cringe, it served Laura well, landing her with a husband who adored her in a way that a woman can only dream of being loved. Susanna had no doubt that no man would ever feel that way about her, so the best she cold hope for was someone who at least respected her and cared for her well-being.
She sighed and turned away from the window, suddenly feeling trapped in her little room. It was her sanctuary in this male domain, but at the moment it was close and stifling, making her unusually agitated. Susanna felt angry with herself for giving in to her feelings of despair, unwilling to allow them to go on. She grabbed her cloak off a peg behind the door and left the room, making her way upstairs to the wall-walk. She would just stroll for a few minutes in the hope that the fresh air and the violet sky reflected in the calm waters of the Narrows would clear her mind and chase this terrible melancholy away.
Susanna nodded to a sentry and made her way along the wall; inhaling the air fragrant with the smell of hay, tang of the water, and just a touch of gunpowder. She leaned on the wall, enjoying the beauty of Manhattan clearly visible across the East River, great ships bobbing gently at the wharves. She watched as darkness began to settle over the city, lights coming on in windows and shops, twinkling like stars in a night sky.
But the beauty around her only made her feel lonelier, wishing she could share it with someone who cared for her. She thought of Corporal Johnson and was suddenly jealous of a woman she’d never met, envying her the love Patrick obviously felt for her. There was something about him that touched her soul. He didn’t seem like the other officers who thought war was all battles and glory, but more like a poet who found himself thrust into the wrong surroundings, his eyes seeing the suffering and fragility of life rather than mere victory and defeat. She had no right to feel anything for him, but there was something in his beautiful gray eyes that left her helpless and vulnerable, wishing despite all reason that it was her he was desperate to find.
Susanna had always prided herself on her good sense and pragmatic nature, but at this moment she felt like a young girl who read too many romantic novels, wishing the hero would finally realize his love for her and sweep her off her feet, promising her a life of romance and adventure.
“You silly, silly goose,” Susanna chided herself, smiling into the darkness at her ridiculous thoughts. She only felt drawn to Corporal Johnson because he was injured and needed her, not because he was the hero of her dreams, but her heart told her otherwise as she descended the stairs and returned to her cold, empty room, undressing for bed. Tomorrow was anothe
r day and she would wake up in better spirits, rested and happy. But today, she would allow herself to dream.
September 1624
England
Chapter 61
Genevieve sat down on the bed, but jumped up almost immediately, resuming her pacing. She’d prayed all night, but was no closer to an answer than she had been last night when she heard from Lord Sheridan of the mysterious death of Thomas Gaines. He’d been found yesterday morning, the smell from his decomposing corpse alerting the people next door that something was terribly wrong. According to Lord Sheridan, Thomas Gaines must have been dead for several days, the cause of death unknown. He’d been in good health according to both his employer and fiancée, who was distraught over the sudden death of her intended just weeks before their wedding. Genevieve had glanced at Louisa as Lord Sheridan broke the news, but Louisa seemed unaffected, her mind probably on her upcoming wedding to Lord Carew. She was the picture of the blushing bride, happy and excited to begin her new life with an adoring husband. If only he knew the truth.
Genevieve sat down again, twisting her hands in her lap. She was faced with a horrible decision, one that she shouldn’t have to make. If she remained silent, she might be helping to cover up a murder, but if she spoke out, she might be destroying the future she had been so desperate to secure. Would anyone even believe her? Lord and Lady Sheridan had been warm and welcoming, but how would they react to her accusation? After all, Louisa was their beloved niece and even though she’d sinned, she was still someone they would be honor bound to protect and shield from the consequences of her actions. And then there was Uncle Alec. What would his reaction be if his niece accused his daughter of murder? Genevieve got up again, unable to remain immobile. She knew what her conscience was telling her to do, but every fiber in her being screamed for her to remain silent and pretend she knew nothing.
Genevieve sank to her knees, praying for guidance again. What did the Lord want her to do? She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it was as if someone whispered into her ear. She supposed it was the voice of the devil, but she couldn’t help listening.
“What good would it do to expose Louisa?” the voice said. “It wouldn’t bring Thomas back, and he had certainly used her cruelly. If convicted, Louisa could be sentenced to death, destroying not only her life and that of her unborn child, but of everyone around her. Uncle Alec would despise you, and you would be alone again, only this time without any hope of changing your situation. You would spend the rest of your life taking care of other people’s children with no home or family of your own. You are not even sure that Louisa had gone to church with the sole purpose of walking through the cemetery and gathering yew seeds. Maybe she genuinely wanted to look at the gravestones in her state of repentance and sorrow.”
Genevieve slowly rose to her feet, her decision made. After all, what she had really seen was a young girl walking through a cemetery and stopping next to an old tree.
October 1624
Paris
Chapter 62
Gentle rays of the late-afternoon sun glinted off the Seine, making the river sparkle like a ribbon of diamonds as it snaked through the bustling metropolis of the city of Paris; dotted by small boats crossing from one side to the other and back, for lack of bridges that would span the river in the centuries to come. The cobblestone-lined streets were wider, flanked by stone buildings that were built not only for purpose, but for beauty. Countless spires could be seen piercing the autumn sky, but none as striking as the towers of Notre Dame de Paris that rose majestically on the Ile de la Cite, clearly visible as the carriage passed along the river. Valerie craned her head to get a better look at the fearsome gargoyles that adorned the structure, their ugly faces meant to ward off evil spirits.
It must have just struck the top of the hour as the bells in the tower began to peel, joined by several others from nearby churches. The air vibrated with the sound, reverberating through Valerie’s soul and filling it with something akin to rapture. She stole a peek at Alec. He’d been baptized a Catholic, but he’d never actually been inside a Catholic church until his arrival in France. His family had practiced in secret, housing a priest during the days of Alec’s parents, and then holding their own mass and seeking out a priest for major family events like weddings, christenings, and funerals. What did it feel like to be in a city full of Catholic churches, ringing their bells in fearless harmony, proclaiming their faith to the world?
“Andre, stop in front of the cathedral please,” Valerie called out, unable to resist showing Alec one of the most beautiful Catholic cathedrals of all time. She’d never been to Paris, but she’d seen countless pictures of Notre Dame, its bell towers and flower window synonymous with Paris.
“What do you think, Alec?” she asked, beaming at the thought of being able to share this moment with him. “This is the next best thing to St. Peter’s in Rome. Isn’t it incredible?”
Alec just gazed up at the Gothic structure, clearly in awe of the beauty of the place. The rays of the sun lit up the Rose Window, illuminating the colorful shards of glass and making them glow like precious jewels in the light, the vivid colors breathtaking in their intensity.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” he breathed, “not even Whitehall Palace. What are those things on the side for?”
“Those are called “Flying Buttresses”. I learned about them in one of my art classes. Notre Dame was one of the first buildings in the world to use them as outer supports and they are typical of Gothic architecture. Can you believe it took almost two centuries to build?” Valerie gushed.
“It was worth it. I’d like to go inside, but not now.” Valerie could understand his feelings. He’d been in turmoil ever since leaving Loudun. Knowing that a Catholic priest might have been responsible for the seduction and death of Rose weighed heavily on Alec, making him question all the things he so strongly believed his whole life. He wouldn’t be at peace until the was able to put the last piece of the puzzle into place, and that piece rested with Father Marc, or Cardinal Neuville as he was now known. Alec didn’t think it would be too difficult to find him and hoped that he could finally have some much-needed closure, even if it proved to be painful.
“Let’s find an inn and get some supper. I’m suddenly famished,” Alec suggested. “We could get you some of that duck you’re so fond of.”
“You seem in better spirits,” Valerie remarked cautiously.
“I suppose I am.”
“What if the cardinal refuses to answer your questions or denies everything outright? Will you be able to live with that?” Valerie couldn’t imagine that a Catholic cardinal would just confess his sins after all this time. Alec was being naive in thinking that he could just ask politely and get an honest answer.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not leaving here until I get what I came for,” Alec answered cryptically. “Now, let’s go eat and maybe we’ll have time to walk around the city before it gets dark. We’re here on grim business, but we might as well try to make the best of it.”
Despite everything, Alec was excited to be in Paris and eager to see the sights. Valerie frequently thought that if Alec lived in the future, he would travel the world and explore every exotic place he’d ever read about. As the head of the family, he was tethered to the land, but had he been free to pursue his own interests, he might have chosen a vastly different path; unlike Charlie, who craved being in charge. He was a true businessman at heart, exhilarated by the process of turning a profit and implementing new ideas. Valerie was grateful that Alec was able to get away from the plantation, even for a short time, and enjoy something of France, even if the circumstances that brought him there were unexpectedly painful.
October 1777
Staten Island
Chapter 63
“Mutton and boiled potatoes today,” Susanna announced as she set the tray down carefully atop the small table by Sam’s bed. “I’ll cut up the mutton for you, shall I?” She began to cut the meat i
nto bite-sized pieces, not bothering to wait for Sam’s reply. He couldn’t cut the food for himself as the tray would rest squarely on his wound, causing him pain.
Sam sat up, watching her from under his lashes. He wasn’t particularly hungry these days, but Susanna had taken to sitting with him while he ate, so he stretched the meal out for as long as he could just for the benefit of her company. She was the only person he’d really spoken to since being brought to the fort, and he looked forward to their conversations. The other patient had been discharged, and Doctor Freeman usually blew in like a summer storm and blew out just as quickly after checking Sam’s progress. Susanna explained that her father was working on creating a pain-numbing compound in his makeshift lab, and was closeted in there most days trying out different formulas and waiting for an opportunity to try them out on wounded soldiers.
Susanna never complained, but she seemed terribly lonely at times, her beautiful eyes shadowed with sadness as she floated about the empty ward, tidying up things that were more than tidy already. Sam wasn’t sure if her father meant to ignore her or if he was simply preoccupied with his work, but Susanna appeared to spend most of her time alone in her room down the hall. She’d been particularly melancholy the last few days, her eyes full of something Sam didn’t understand.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, searching his face for signs of discomfort.
“Much better,” Sam lied, not wanting to complain. Lying about in a nightshirt, having his meat cut for him, and being forced to use a chamber pot, was about as much humiliation as he could handle without having her fuss over him like an infant. Sam tried to preserve some dignity, but it was probably too late for that.
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