Liza looked anxiously at the purpling sky. Already a few tiny stars twinkled up above, and a crescent moon, pale, but clearly visible, was hanging in the twilit sky. The coming night quickly replaced daylight; the woods along the road already shrouded in darkness and strangely forbidding where only a little while ago they were picturesque and filled with birdsong. Another half hour and the road would be swallowed by darkness, and she still had another hour to go at the very least. The horse was tired, and was barely ambling along, more interested in the grass at the side of the road. Liza dug her heels into the flanks of the animal, but it barely registered her annoyance and continued at the same slow pace.
Liza wasn’t frightened exactly, but she didn’t wish to be alone on the road after dark. There’d been some tales of robberies of late. Not that she had anything worth stealing, but as her mother always said, God took care of those who took care of themselves, a sentiment Liza wholeheartedly agreed with. She resigned herself to getting back later than expected and allowed her thoughts to return to Neve Everly. What if she refused to pay? The whole ruse had been instigated to get money, but if Liza got nothing, sending the woman to her death would only diminish her own chances of ever seeing Heaven.
There were times when Liza wholeheartedly wished she was a Papist. How easy they had it; all they had to do was go to confession, show some remorse and their sins were forgiven, if not erased. Liza had a list of sins to confess, and she wished for forgiveness. She wasn’t exactly contrite, but she did regret some of her choices. At least she didn’t do away with Johnny, as she had planned. Something had stopped her from drinking the potion that would expel him from her womb. Liza would have liked to see Captain Norrington rot in Hell for all eternity, but she did love her boy, and everything she did was for him. Perhaps most folk wouldn’t understand her motives and condemn her without reservation, but Liza was a single mother who was also now responsible for her three flighty sisters, two of whom would need feeding and clothing for years to come. Liza needed the money, desperately. Neve Everly had to come around. Would she really risk her life just to thwart Liza? It didn’t seem very likely, but one could never tell how far someone was prepared to go. Had someone told Liza when she was a girl that she’d stoop to blackmail and extortion, she would have called the person a knave and shunned them for the rest of their days. But, here she was.
Feeling a small pang of guilt at her own evolution, Liza decided not to dwell on her character. She’d done what she had to do to survive. Of course, a better person might have chosen a different path, and would choose the path of righteousness even now, but it was too late to change course. She’d have her money, come Hell or high water, and she’d live comfortably and provide for her son. Liza was so caught up in her own internal argument that she didn’t notice the mounted rider who emerged from the trees just up ahead. She reined in her horse, peering into the gathering darkness. The man’s hat was pulled down low, but his hands were loose on the reins, relaxed. He didn’t appear to be carrying a pistol, or even a sword. Not a thief then. Probably just a fellow traveler.
Liza stiffened with apprehension as the stranger drew closer. There was something familiar about the man’s posture, but there was nowhere for her to go but forward. Even if she turned around, she’d never get away on her old nag. The horse was barely moving. Liza gasped as the man suddenly dismounted and grabbed the reins of her horse, forcing her to stop. He used one arm to pull her down, turning her away from him and holding her in a steel vise against his chest. Liza could feel his breath as he bent his head lower, brushing the stubble of his beard against her face. She now knew exactly who it was. Archie Hicks, God damn his eyes.
“What’d you want then?” Liza demanded, infusing her voice with false bravado. She was scared, terrified even.
“If you were a man, I’d slit your throat from ear to ear,” Archie replied as a sharp blade pressed against her exposed throat. “It would give me great pleasure, given your perfidy, but you have a son, and I will spare you for his sake.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Liza answered sarcastically, but grew silent as the blade pressed deeper into her flesh, drawing a thin line of blood. Liza could smell its metallic tang, and sucked in her breath with fright.
“Don’t tempt me,” Archie replied, his voice full of venom. Liza grew silent, knowing what was good for her. Archie wasn’t governed by the same rules as God-fearing men; he was a born killer, which made him attractive to some women. They sensed the ruthlessness beneath the veneer of civility. Liza had to admit that if Archie wasn’t holding her at knife-point, she might have been quite aroused herself. She’d always found him attractive, if not a very good prospect financially, and had no doubt that a night with him would be most gratifying. That mouse he’d married wasn’t woman enough for him; that was obvious.
“What do you want from me?” Liza whispered, ready to offer him her body in return for her freedom. She thought he might be game.
As if reading her thoughts, Archie loosened his hold and shifted his hips, breaking the full-body contact between them. He still held the knife to her throat though, the steel digging into her flesh.
“You will go home, take your boy, and leave these parts for good. If you appear at the trial on Sunday, or if I EVER see you anywhere near Cranley again, I swear that I will kill you. You know me well enough to know that I don’t make idle threats. Do we understand each other, Liza?”
“Yes, we do. You will never lay eyes on me again, Archibald Hicks,” Liza replied and meant it. Having a dagger held to one’s throat was a sobering experience, and the thought of Johnny growing up without her was enough to frighten Liza into agreeing. Being poor and alive was better than being dead and buried, and in either case, there wasn’t much holding her here these days. Her sisters were old enough to fend for themselves.
Avis would soon marry, and the other two would have to find employment and start paying their own way. Liza could no longer support them. She’d leave them the house and everything in it and go to London. There were more opportunities there. Perhaps she’d even find a man to take her on and be a father to her son. Her bid to get money out of Lady Everly clearly failed, and testifying at the trial at this juncture wouldn’t line her pockets or win her any friends. It was time to acknowledge her failure and move on before she got seriously hurt.
“Now, get back on your horse and be gone,” Archie said as he released her.
Liza turned to face him, their eyes meeting in the dim light of the evening. “Thank you for giving me another chance, Archie,” she purred. “I really mean that.” Liza arched her back in an effort to make her breasts appear larger and gazed at him from beneath lowered lashes. Perhaps if she got him into bed, he’d be more amenable and change his mind about having her leave for good. Just in case she changed her mind and wished to stay.
“Just go,” Archie said. He didn’t move from his stance in the road until Liza’s shadowy form disappeared from view, then mounted his own horse and turned toward Cranley.
Chapter 15
I shut the door behind me and collapsed into a chair before the empty hearth. I was still shaking, my mind going round and round in circles. Despite Frances’s words of comfort and unfailing support, I now knew I’d done the wrong thing. I allowed my anger and defiance to prevail, and now I was in even greater danger than before. Liza was a venomous shrew, and now that I had humiliated her twice, no, three times, would do her utmost to get revenge. She’d never forgiven me for “bewitching” Hugo, as she saw it, and my refusal to accept her son as Hugo’s left her bitter and angry. We all knew that the boy wasn’t Hugo’s, but Liza had chosen to play her trump card, and couldn’t accept defeat. The accusation of witchcraft was a last-ditch attempt to hurt me and extort money from the man whom Liza saw as hers. She couldn’t have him, but she could take the only thing from him she saw as worth having — money. If he didn’t pay up, she would destroy his family by condemning the mother of his children to death.
&nb
sp; I was fairly sure that Liza didn’t really believe I was a witch, although an uneducated girl could easily perceive some of the things I’d done as witchcraft. Everyone knew that I’d helped Hugo escape arrest in the spring of 1685. I’d tricked Captain Norrington into allowing us into the church, then led Hugo through the passage in the crypt, taking him to the twenty-first century to avoid certain death. Of course, even in my time this would be seen as magic. I knew that time travel was possible, but most people would still see it as the stuff of science fiction. Liza knew firsthand from her lover that Hugo Everly had vanished from the church, and that he had been with me. She was clever enough to put two and two together, and in her mind it added up to witchcraft.
The incident had been largely forgotten after our long absence from England, but when reminded at the trial, the people of Cranley would only too readily recall the mysterious circumstances under which Hugo Everly avoided arrest. Everyone would believe Liza, partially because there was no other explanation, and partially because it made for good theater. This would be the most exciting and entertaining thing to happen to the villagers in years, and every man, woman, and child would turn out for the trial, if only to enjoy the performance. The burden of proof wouldn’t be on Liza but on me. Anything Liza said about me during the trial would be taken as gospel; she wouldn’t need to substantiate her accusations.
My twenty-first-century mind told me not to give in to blackmail, knowing that the blackmailer would come back for more, but this was the seventeenth century, where an accusation of witchcraft by one person was sufficient reason to try and execute someone, sans proof. Twenty crowns amounted to a fortune in this day and age, but I was sure that it had been Liza’s opening bid. She would have settled for much less, had I actually been willing to pay her off. Hugo and I had the money, and I should have just paid the woman to make this trial go away, but I had been too livid, and too principled to give in to her demands. And now she had gone off in a huff, more determined than ever to destroy me, and my family. Of course, there was no guarantee that Liza wouldn’t take the money and testify anyway. There was no one here to stop her. Hugo was under arrest, and Archie was in London.
Frances and I were on our own, and the menacing presence of Mark Watson didn’t do much to lift our morale. The man hadn’t done anything untoward, but there was something sinister about him, and I was almost certain that he’d volunteered for the task. I thought I guessed the reason, but prayed that I was wrong. I’d seen the way Mark Watson looked at Frances. He wanted her, that was obvious, and with Archie away, Frances was woefully helpless. I tried to comfort myself with the idea that Watson hadn’t tried anything with Frances thus far, but my gut instinct told me that it was just a matter of time until he got her alone somewhere. I’d instructed Jem to keep an eye on the man and alert me should he see anything suspicious. Jem readily agreed, but there was something odd in his manner. Perhaps he was frightened of Watson. Jem was jittery and unusually silent; no longer the boy I had known. It brought me some comfort to have Jem with us at this time, but I missed the funny little boy who worshipped Hugo and Archie and would gladly sell his soul for a sweetie. I hadn’t seen him sneak into the kitchen even once, and he seemed to have little interest in his food these past few days. He was withdrawn and watchful, but I suppose under the circumstances that wasn’t odd at all.
I buried my face in my hands, allowing myself a few moments of unobserved despair before going back downstairs to face Frances and the children. They kept asking when Papa would be back, and every time my composure cracked a little more. I had no idea what was going on in London. There was no way for Hugo to send word, so the silence was absolute. I had to have faith in my husband and wait, but I didn’t have much time. Tomorrow was already Friday, and the trial was set for Sunday morning. Perhaps I could ask Jem to go up to London and find out from Archie what was going on.
The only person I could still rely on was Bradford Nash. I knew that he’d come if I called him, but in view of Hugo’s arrest and the upcoming trial, I advised him to keep his distance for his family’s sake. Brad and Beth would be at the trial, but until then, there was nothing they could do to help.
“Right. Get hold of yourself,” I said out loud and leaned back in the chair with my hands resting on the arm supports. I closed my eyes and began to do breathing exercises in order to clear my mind and calm my spirit. I was no good to anyone in this state. I needed to regain some semblance of control over my feelings and present a serene and confident façade to my children, even if I felt as if I were walking on a tightrope suspended over a cliff. After a few minutes the exercise began to help, and I felt the tension flowing out as my body relaxed into the chair. A few more minutes and I would be ready to go downstairs.
I finally rose to my feet, patted my hair into place and smoothed out my skirt, ready to return, when there was a timid knock at the door of my bedroom. I assumed it was Polly or Harriet, come to light the fire and the candles since it was almost dark outside and the room was lost in shadow. I opened the door to find a white-faced Frances, her eyes huge with panic, the flame of the candle reflecting in her pupils.
“Frances, what is it?” I cried. Had that bloody man harassed her in some way? I was ready to storm downstairs, give him a stern warning and threaten to report him to Reverend Snow when Frances cut in across my furious thoughts. Her voice was low, and I had to strain to hear her.
“There’s a man at the door, Neve,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. “He says he’s delivering his lordship’s body.”
I grabbed on to the doorjamb as my legs gave out from under me, refusing to support me any longer. Frances tried to grab my elbow, but I slid to the floor and pressed my forehead to the cool wood. My eyes were wide open, but I couldn’t see a thing or hear what Frances was saying. My mind shut down, refusing to accept what I’d just been told. It was as if a great chasm opened up in front of me, ready to swallow me whole and pull me into a bottomless darkness from which there was no return.
I lay on my side and pulled up my knees, curling into a fetal position as Frances knelt by my side. She set down the candle and tried to rouse me, but my eyes fixated on the flickering flame, drawing me deeper into my trance. There was something so peaceful and cleansing about that flame. It was the only thing that kept me from falling into the darkness; the flame was life.
Chapter 16
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, but no human being is able to keep thoughts away for long. A tiny voice began to protest, telling me that I must focus, if only for the sake of the children. If I didn’t come down, the man would come inside, and perhaps say something in front of the children about their father being dead. And where was Archie? Why hadn’t he brought Hugo home? Was Archie hurt? We had to find out, for Frances’s sake. The thought clearly hadn’t occurred to her yet, but if Hugo were dead and Archie wasn’t the one to bring him to me, then he was either dead, incapacitated, or on the run.
I forced myself to sit up. Frances had long since stopped trying to talk to me, but continued to kneel next to me in stupefied silence. I got to my feet, picked up the candle, and walked out of the room. It was like an out-of-body experience. I could see and hear things, but I felt as if my body were still upstairs lying on the floor. Frances was behind me, still silent as she followed me to the door.
Mark Watson stood aside, allowing us to pass unchallenged. He’d heard the news. For once, the man had a look of compassion on his face, but it was more for Frances than myself. I floated past him and down the steps toward the wagon. A plain pine box rested in the bed of the wagon, its light color at odds with the gathering darkness and gray boards of the wagon. I stared at it, unable to believe that my Hugo was inside. No, my mind kept repeating, but I would have to deal with my grief later.
I tore my gaze away from the coffin and fixed it on the man standing by the wagon, his hat respectfully held in his hands. He was middle-aged, with a full head of graying hair, thick eyebrows over shrewd dark eyes, and
the body of a boxer. He wasn’t very tall, but he gave off an aura of brute strength. He looked like a man who was on intimate terms with death. A teenage boy, possibly his son, still sat on the bench and held the reins loosely. He looked around with interest as if he’d never been to the country. He had the same build as his father, but his eyes were young and innocent, his smile tentative as his gaze finally settled on me.
“Where do ye want ‘im, yer ladyship?” the man finally asked, clearly eager to be done with this gruesome task and return home. It was already dark outside, and the journey back to London would take several hours. The roads weren’t safe after dark, but this man looked like someone who could take care of himself. I noted the butt of a pistol visible on the bench next to the boy.
“What happened?” I asked, realizing that the man probably had no idea. He was just someone hired to deliver the body to its family. But he must have heard the gossip in London and surely knew more than I did, which was nothing.
“Suicide, ma’am,” the man answered gruffly. “Slit ‘is wrists with a bit o’ glass.” He looked at his scuffed boots, giving me a moment to absorb the news. Suicide was the least honorable kind of death. Even people who’d been executed received more respect. Suicide was a coward’s way out, and a person who chose to take their own life was not only frowned upon by their fellow man, but also forsaken by God. The man expected me to be overcome by shame and felt sorry for me.
“It’s not Hugo, it’s not Hugo, it’s not Hugo,” I kept silently repeating to myself as I tried to keep a lid on my horror. I directed the two men to bring the coffin into the dining room and set it on the table. Only a few months passed since my baby’s coffin stood in exactly the same place and I felt as if I were going to faint. I dug my nails into my palm in an effort to distract myself from the grief that was about to engulf me. It’s not Hugo, I thought again.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 8