Frances thoughtfully slipped the man a coin and closed the door behind him and his assistant. I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel as I stood staring at the pine box. The coffin wasn’t nailed shut, just secured with a leather strap. I knew I had to look, but every cell in my being just wanted to run from this room and never return. Suicide. Hugo would never commit suicide; I was sure of that. He regarded suicide as a mortal sin, but a little niggling fear still remained. Everyone had their breaking point; perhaps Hugo had reached his.
Frances stood across from me holding a candle, her face pale and frightened. Mark Watson made to follow us into the dining room at first, but thought better of it and returned to his post by the door to give me a bit of privacy. I was grateful for that, at least. I couldn’t bear to have him watching me as I performed this morbid task.
“Do you want me to do it?” Frances asked.
“No. This is something I have to do, but I would appreciate it if you stayed. I can’t bear to do this alone.”
“Of course, I’ll stay. Oh, I wish Archie were here,” Frances moaned.
I wished Archie was there as well. His solid presence would make this easier somehow, even if my worst fears were realized. I finally sucked in a deep breath and unbuckled the strap, pushing aside the lid of the coffin as Frances leaned closer, illuminating the corpse with her candle. Unnaturally pale face. Dark lashes fanned against lean cheeks. Wavy dark hair sprinkled with gray. Generous mouth framed by several days’ stubble. Yes, it could be Hugo, but it wasn’t. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Great sobs tore from my chest as I beheld Max. I hadn’t seen him since that day in Paris when he abducted me and Valentine from the garden of our house, and took us into that awful tunnel in the hope of trapping Hugo and leaving him there to die. And now Max was dead. None of this made any sense, but I sighed with relief, thankful that I wasn’t looking at Hugo’s remains. Why would Max kill himself? And where was Hugo? I was desperate for answers, but I wouldn’t get any from Max, save one.
I glanced at his hands which were folded over his chest. I hated to do it, but I reached into the coffin and lifted one hand, turning it over to see the inside of the wrist. A jagged gash nearly half an inch thick marked the wrist. The blood had congealed, and looked like a smiling red mouth. I grabbed a bowl from the table and vomited into it, unable to contain my horror. My forehead was clammy, and I could scarcely catch my breath as I sucked in air to subdue my heaving stomach. After a few minutes, I finally judged it safe to set down the bowl and return to my task. I replaced Max’s hand on his chest and closed the lid.
“Neve, are you all right?” Frances asked, her brow furrowed with concern. I nodded. I’d always thought that to be the most inane question ever. If someone needed to ask you if you were all right, clearly you weren’t. How could anyone be all right when faced with the possibility of being a widow, and then having to open a coffin and look upon a dead body, praying all the while that the man inside wasn’t your husband but some other poor sod? I felt a deep sorrow settle over me as I walked from the room. I wasn’t permitted to leave the house, but I needed a bit of fresh air. I felt as if I were suffocating.
“Frances, I’m going out into the garden for a moment. I need some air.” Frances nodded but made no move to follow me. She went to join the children instead, who were in the parlor with Ruby. They were playing a game and were shrieking as Ruby chased them around the room, her cheeks flushed with the effort. I saw Valentine give Michael a push just before the door closed, and heard Frances reprimanding her for being unkind to her little brother.
Mark Watson sprang to his feet as I stepped out of the dining room, but he refrained from saying anything as I grabbed my cloak and stepped into the twilit garden. Everything was in bloom, the shrubs and flower bushes bursting with new life. There were no flowers yet, but the garden would be full of flowers any day now. The air smelled of new grass, earth, and wood smoke; a wonderful smell which always made me think of spring in the countryside. I wrapped my arms about my middle as I walked between the plants. My mind was in turmoil, but after a dozen turns around the garden, I finally began to calm down, and reason started to set in. Despite my relief at the body not being Hugo, there were other things to consider. If it were believed by the authorities that Max was Hugo, then that meant that Hugo was officially considered dead. The king and queen would have been advised of Lord Everly’s death in the Tower.
I sat down heavily on a wrought iron bench, suddenly too tired to keep walking. Was this a sacrifice of some sort? It didn’t make much sense. Max would know that by killing himself, he would also be killing Hugo in the eyes of the world. Hugo would become a nonentity, a ghost. Besides, the Max I knew would never sacrifice anything for anyone. He might have seen the light and wished to atone for the wrong he’d done us, but this was going too far. There was still a chance that Hugo might have been proven innocent, so why jump the gun? Had something happened in the Tower to cause Max to take his own life?
The more I thought about it, the less sense it all made. Did Hugo know Max was dead? Did he have a plan of some sort, and would he put it into action before the trial on Sunday? My head ached from the terrible tension brought about by this day. I rose to my feet laboriously, ready to go back inside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jem walking toward the house from the stables. He’d gone out for a ride and I hadn’t even noticed. Jem needed to return home to his father, and that was yet another issue that would have to be addressed, but not now.
“Hello, Jem,” I called out, trying to sound as normal as I could. “You must be starving. I think Cook has some fresh meat pies; perhaps she’ll give you one to tide you over until supper.”
Jem looked startled by my sudden appearance, but he smiled back. This wasn’t the boyish smile I remembered; this was the smile of someone on the cusp of adulthood, a smile meant to hide other powerful emotions.
“I’m not hungry,” Jem said and walked away.
Chapter 17
Archie sat on the narrow bench and leaned against the side of the house as he gazed up at the starry sky. His father was inside, clearing up after supper. More mashed turnips and bread. Archie hadn’t been able to eat much, but he felt no hunger. What he felt was anger, confusion, and loneliness. He wished he could just ride over to Everly Manor and see Frances, but he needed to stay out of sight until after the trial. He’d had no further instructions from Hugo, so the original plan was still in effect. At least he now knew who he was up against and was fairly certain that Liza took his threat seriously. If she had, then the trial couldn’t go forth, and Neve was safe.
Seeing Liza again had been difficult. The woman was a snake in the grass, and he’d felt an overwhelming desire to kill her. It took all his strength not to. She was a mother, after all, and to deprive her little boy of his only parent would be a cruel thing to do. But, if Archie knew anything about human nature, it was that people like Liza didn’t just go away. She’d betrayed Hugo to Lionel Finch and nearly had him killed, and now she was after Neve. Was it a personal vendetta of some sort, or had Liza fallen on hard times and simply wanted to find an easy way to make some money? Jem said she’d asked for twenty crowns. That was a bold move. Perhaps if she’d asked for less Neve wouldn’t have been as outraged, but Lady Everly was a woman of strength and character; she would never buckle down to threats or blackmail. Archie almost wished she had.
Paying off Liza would have bought them some time, so he could have returned to London to find Hugo. Hugo needed him, especially at a time like this. Hugo was as resourceful and courageous as any man he’d ever met, but there were things Archie was better at. Despite his best attempts, Hugo could never quite drop his clipped upper-crust elocution or act the thug. Even dressed like a tradesman, the nobleman beneath stood out in a crowd of common men. Hugo needed Archie to go where he couldn’t, and carry out tasks which might be distasteful, although to give Hugo his due, he would do whatever it took to clear his name and keep his family safe. A
nd part of working as a team was following orders, so Archie couldn’t leave, even now that he knew that Liza had been taken care of. He had to keep an eye on the women and make sure they were safe.
At least Frances isn’t in danger, Archie thought, for now. Associating with a known witch could have repercussions, and if Neve were to be found guilty on Sunday, all eyes would turn to Frances, who would be found guilty by association. There was already talk in the village, and Frances’s natural beauty didn’t help her cause. Women were jealous creatures, suspicious of anyone who had the power to take what was theirs. Frances hardly ever went into the village, but Archie had seen the men looking at her in church, and so had their wives. Frances made most of the village women look drab and coarse, and they, in turn, hated her and spoke ill of her.
And, of course, there was Mark Watson to consider. He was in the house with the women, according to Jem, and Archie knew the man well enough to be concerned. He’d known Mark since he was a lad, and Mark had always had a volatile temper and a disregard for natural law. He’d often pursued other men’s wives, and there had been talk of him forcing himself on the cooper’s daughter about ten years back. Mark denied the accusation strenuously at the time, but the girl had gotten with child, and her son, who was now nine, bore a striking resemblance to Mark. If Mark Watson so much as looked at Frances or Neve the wrong way, he’d geld him, Archie decided.
Archie suddenly froze, his body going rigid, his legs tensing in preparation. He was ready to lunge at whoever was out there in the darkness. He heard the snap of a twig, and his hand instantly went for his dagger. It wasn’t in his boot though. He’d taken it out when he came back and left it next to his sword. Archie looked around for something to use as a weapon. He slowly reached for a piece of split log. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something. He balanced the wood in his hand, ready to strike if need be when he heard a low whistle. Archie relaxed and tossed the wood down as he rose to his feet, a smile of relief on his face.
Hugo melted out of the darkness. He looked tired and stern, his clothes dusty from hours of travel. Archie didn’t normally show Hugo much physical affection, but he grasped him in a bear hug, thrilled to see him alive and well. Hugo hugged Archie back, clapping him on the back.
“Is all well?” Hugo asked as they drew apart.
“Come inside and I’ll fill you in. You look like you could use a drink and some food, although my father lives on pottage and turnips these days.”
“Pottage will be just fine. I’m famished.”
Horatio Hicks showed no surprise at seeing Lord Everly in his home. He welcomed Hugo, offered him a cup of ale and a bowl of pottage, then took his pipe and a pouch of tobacco from the mantel. “I reckon you two need to talk, so I’ll just have a quiet smoke outside,” he said and let himself out.
Hugo wolfed down the food as if he hadn’t eaten in days, drank the ale in one long swallow and held out his cup for a refill. Archie waited patiently. He felt an irrational surge of joy. Hugo was back. Now they would be able to return home to their women and get on with their lives. Perhaps he’d see Franny tonight. A warm glow spread through Archie’s chest at the thought of climbing into bed with her and taking her into his arms. It wasn’t even the promise of making love, but the need to be close to her, and to know that she was safe and he was there to look after her.
Hugo pushed aside the empty bowl and leaned back in his chair, his face slightly more relaxed now. “Archie, Max is dead,” he announced without preamble.
“What? How?”
“The gossip on the street is that it was suicide. I have other theories myself.”
“You think it was murder?” Archie asked, stunned.
“I do, but I can’t prove it, especially now that I’m officially deceased. All of London is abuzz with the news. Tell me what’s been happening here.”
Archie quickly filled Hugo in on the events of the day. “Liza won’t be troubling you again. But, what are you going to do now? Go back to France?” Archie asked. His stomach clenched with anxiety. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, and with it, dread. They’d only been back in England for a few months. Archie liked France, and the years in Rouen had been unexpectedly happy, but he longed to remain in England, close to his father. If he left now, he might never see him again. Horatio was failing; Archie could see that after living with him for a few days. It wasn’t just scurvy that had caused him to lose weight and appear more frail. There was something else, Archie was sure of it. There was a wheezing in the chest when he slept, and the way his father grew breathless after performing the smallest of tasks. Horatio Hicks was ill, and not long for this world.
Hugo studied Archie for a long moment, his head cocked to the side as if he were considering something. Archie noticed the tell-tale tremor in his left hand. He was anxious because he hadn’t told him the whole truth of the situation. An unexpected thought suddenly popped into Archie’s head. Was it possible that Hugo killed Max himself? It didn’t make much sense, but there was always method to Hugo’s madness. Or perhaps it had been self-defense. Max had made several attempts on Hugo’s life. Could be that he decided to try one last time.
Hugo finally seemed to come to a decision. He leaned forward, and Archie instinctively leaned toward him, eager to hear what Hugo had to share with him. He didn’t like feeling left out, as if Hugo didn’t trust him.
“Archie, there is something I must tell you,” Hugo began, his voice low. The window was open and sweet smoke from Horatio’s pipe drifted into the house, reminding the two men that they weren’t quite alone. “I hoped never to have to reveal this to you, but I think the time has come. You will find it shocking and fantastical, but you’ve known me for most of your life. I would never lie to you.”
“You’re scaring me now,” Archie said, attempting humor, but sounding like a frightened little boy instead. He’d known Hugo since he was seven, but he’d never heard him use that particular tone of voice, nor had he ever noticed that expression. It was as if Hugo were afraid of sharing what was on his mind, or very apprehensive at the very least.
“Come, you can tell me anything. You know that,” Archie prompted.
“Do you remember when I came across Neve walking toward the manor from the church and nearly ran her down?” Hugo asked. Archie wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t a reminiscence about meeting the love of his life for the first time. Archie silently nodded.
“She hadn’t been in sanctuary; she’d come through a passage in the crypt — a passage from the future. Neve was born in the twentieth century, and she had taken me to the future when she saved me from arrest in 1685. When people said there was magic involved, they weren’t too far off the mark. I went to the future, Archie, where I met Max. He is from the future, too. He was Lord Everly in 2013.”
Archie stared dumbly at Hugo. He knew Hugo would never lie or play a dirty trick on him, but this was just too much to swallow. He had no idea how to reply. He didn’t believe Neve was a witch, but he did believe in witchcraft in general. Some women had that gift and used it for evil. There were times when he thought Margaret had been a witch. There hadn’t been a man who’d been immune to her type of primal sexuality. But Margaret wasn’t evil, just selfish and misguided. Had she been a witch, she’d have healed herself when she’d fallen ill, or conjured up some gold to make her life easier. And Neve…. He’d never seen any evil in Neve, nor had she ever done anything to hurt anyone, but now that he knew this about her, he could never view her in the same way as before. What other powers did she possess? Perhaps Liza had known something, and there was truth in her accusation.
“Archie?” Hugo prompted.
“I don’t know what to say. I admit I find it difficult to believe, but if you tell me it’s so, I will say I believe you.”
“Archie, I never planned to share this with anyone for fear of putting Neve in danger. You know how people feel about things they don’t understand. To be honest, I don’t really understa
nd it myself, nor does Neve. Traveling through time is not common in the future, but it’s often explored in films.”
“In what?” Archie asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“Films are moving pictures that tell a story,” Hugo replied absentmindedly.
“Will you tell me something of this future you’ve seen?” Archie asked, leaning even further toward Hugo. Perhaps hearing more would help him to understand, if not to envision the world Hugo was speaking of.
“I will, but not right now. I’m telling you this for a reason, Archie. Now that I am believed dead, and Neve has been accused of witchcraft, there’s every reason for us to leave, and instead of going sideways, I intend to go forward.”
“What, to the future?” Archie gasped. “All of you?”
“Yes. We will go to the twenty-first century, and I’d like you and Frances to come with us.”
“No,” Archie shook his head like a horse chasing away flies. “No.”
Hugo inclined his head in mute understanding. He hadn’t expected Archie to agree, but he had to make the offer. He didn’t think that Archie would change his mind. This was his time and place, and in truth, Archie belonged here, and Frances would remain with Archie, which was as it should be.
“Archie, since you won’t be joining us, I have a few requests to make of you.”
“Anything.” Archie looked relieved, as if Hugo could have forced him to go with them. Taking care of ordinary things was something he could understand, and he would focus on that instead of the extraordinary knowledge Hugo just shared with him. Of course, to be fair, Archie needed some time to process the information. Hugo had some difficulty accepting the truth when faced with the future, even when shown running water and electricity, not to mention speeding cars. Archie only had Hugo’s word for it, and although he struggled to believe him, on some subconscious level, he probably thought that Hugo had lost his mind.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 9