“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 would 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 James 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 whe
n 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 had 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.
“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.
“Might this be about the traitor Everly?” Jurgen asked as he took a sip of his brandy and crossed his feet at the ankles in an effort to get more comfortable.
“It’s been less than two days since Everly’s arrest and already all of London is buzzing with the news. Having been one of Monmouth’s conspirators, he’s viewed as something of a hero, so I must tread carefully. Executing a man who risked his life to bring about a Protestant monarchy will not only turn him into a martyr, but will be the worst possible way to begin my relationship with the British public and nobility. I must rule with a firm hand, but being seen as a despot is not my objective. Besides, the evidence against the man is scant, to say the least.”
“You can always release him,” Jurgen offered half-heartedly.
“Which would make me seem weak and overly trusting,” William countered, “inviting my enemies to plot against me with no fear of reprisal.”
“So, if you won’t release him and you dare not execute him, what do you propose to do with the man?”
“I can try to obtain more evidence to support the accusation, but as it appears now, it might need to be fabricated, which is dishonest and not the way I choose to rule. I consider myself an honorable man, Jurgen, not someone who orders an arrest and then provides the evidence to support the accusation.”
William sighed with frustration, still annoyed with Mary for making the decision to arrest Everly in haste. Had she sought his counsel, he would have advised her to have the man watched, his correspondence intercepted, until they had the proof they needed. But now it was too late, and Everly was already in the Tower, awaiting a trial which would be nothing short of an embarrassment.
“There is another way, Will,” Jurgen said, his eyes crinkling with humor as he watched his friend battling with his conscience. Jurgen always found William’s desire to be honorable something of a joke, not being encumbered with such a sensibility himself. Sometimes William wondered if Jurgen even had a conscience, or a fear of God, but always felt guilty for thinking such uncharitable thoughts.
“And what way is that?” William finally asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“The way in which you can claim total deniability,” Jurgen replied. “Why not leave it to me?”
“What have you in mind?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Jurgen Van Houten replied as he rose to his feet. “I’ll see to everything.”
It wouldn’t be the first time William allowed Jurgen to get him out of a difficult situation. He’d taken the blame more than once when William was caught sneaking out of his bedchamber, or returning just before dawn in clothes that were soiled and reeking of cheap perfume and tobacco smoke.
“All right, old friend, and I thank you. Dealing with Everly’s possible treason is not something I relish.”
William clapped his friend on the shoulder as he laboriously rose to his feet. Wilf was instantly at his side, ready to assist him with preparing for bed. William yawned widely and stood still as Wilf began to undress him.
Chapter 3
Archie left London after midday to ensure that he didn’t encounter Lady Everly and Frances on the road. They needed to remain ignorant of his presence in Cranley, allowing him to go about his business unobserved. The only one who’d been entrusted with the secret was Jem, since he could keep Archie abreast of what was going on at the big house without anyone noticing. Few people paid attention to adolescent boys, so Jem would be virtually invisible. Lord Everly tried to persuade Jem to return home to his father, but Jem was adamant about remaining with the Everlys. He wished to help, and judging by his obstinacy, things at home were not nearly as rosy as Nicholas Marsden had led Hugo to believe in the few letters that he’d sent since taking Jem away from them.
Archie felt sorry for the boy, but his practical nature prevented him from supporting Jem in this foolishness. He’d been given an opportunity few base-born children could even dream of, so whatever caused his dissatisfaction with his new family, it would be best to put it aside and make the most of his good fortune. Archie was certain that Lord Everly shared his view, but under the circumstances, he was in no position to take the time to reason with Jem or deliver him back to his father. Jem would have to sort things out for himself, but for now, he’d be a great help.
By the time Archie made it to Cranley, it was already growing dark, the village settling in for the night. Warm, yellow light glowed in some windows, but most had already been shuttered to keep out the cool night air. Archie glanced up at Everly Manor, sitting proudly on its ridge. One window was lit on the ground floor, but otherwise the house looked dark and forbidding. The chil
dren’s nursery faced the back of the house, and that’s likely where Neve was at this moment. She wasn’t the type of woman who entrusted the rearing of her children to servants. She spent as much time with the children as she could, more often than not sending the servants away as she bathed the children and put them to bed. She reminded Archie of his own mother, who’d been kind and gentle, and often sang him to sleep when he was frightened, or simply wished to spend a few extra minutes alone with his mam. The memory of his mother always brought a tightness to Archie’s chest. She was long gone now, the sound of her voice no more than a whisper on the wind.
Archie shook his head stubbornly as if to chase the memories away, then turned his horse northward, toward his father’s farm. The little house looked as forlorn as ever, the single window the only beacon of light in an otherwise darkened landscape. There were some sounds from the animals in the barn, but Cecil the dog didn’t so much as raise his shaggy head as Archie dismounted and saw to his horse before going to the house. He knocked softly, so as not to frighten his father who seldom had any visitors. Archie’s childhood friends, Bill and Arnold, looked in on his da regularly and helped him around the farm, but aside from them, no one ever bothered with the old man anymore.
“Archie, my boy, what a pleasant surprise,” Horatio Hicks exclaimed, clearly pleased. “Come in, come in. I was just about to sup. Will you join me? I’m afraid I’ve only got the mashed neeps to offer you, but there’s some bread, cheese, and ale.”
Horatio had been hale and hearty in his day, but now, on the cusp of seventy, although still wiry, he looked thinner than ever, his skin a waxy yellow in the candlelight. His once-red hair was mostly all white, and the cornflower-blue eyes which had many a girl in the village sighing after him had become faded and rheumy. Archie felt a pang of worry, seeing his father so diminished. It’d been only a few weeks since he’d seen him last, but the decline was noticeable, and rapid.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 2