“Please see that Max gets a decent burial. I know that the Church will refuse to bury him in consecrated ground, but perhaps you can convince Reverend Snow that it was murder rather than suicide.”
“And how am I meant to do that?” Archie asked, balking at the request.
“The reverend knows that I’m Catholic. We’ve never discussed it, but he is aware of my faith. He also knows that as a Catholic, I would never take my own life, it being a mortal sin. Perhaps he can be persuaded that the circumstances of my death are murky at best.”
“I’ll do what I can. What else?” Archie asked. He suddenly felt as if he were going to be sick. What would he do with himself once Hugo left? He’d been in Hugo’s service all his adult life. He supposed he could find new employment with another nobleman, but he didn’t want to work for anyone else. Hugo was a friend, a mentor, a brother. And what of Frances and her devotion to Neve and the children?
“Archie, I need to make sure that Clarence Hiddleston, my nephew, inherits the estate, but only after we’ve safely gone. If, for any reason, our venture fails, then Michael will still be the heir to the title and estate. I need you to keep an eye on Everly Manor until you know for sure, and then you can contact Clarence.”
“Beastly little twerp,” Archie said with feeling. “And what am I to tell people about Neve and the children?”
“Tell them that Neve decided to return to France, or go back to her people in the Netherlands. That’s where people believe she was from. It really doesn’t matter.”
Archie stared at Hugo through a mist of misery. “You are really going,” he said, more to himself than to Hugo. “You are really leaving.”
“Archie, I must. There’s nothing left for me here, and I must think of my family. My children will be better off in the future where they can be safe.”
“What’s it like then, this future?” Archie asked, suddenly really curious.
“It’s miraculous, Archie.”
Archie sat in mute silence as Hugo described the life he had seen. Archie had a hard time imagining the machines Hugo spoke of, especially the flying ones, but he could almost envision a place where people were free to worship as they pleased, and there was less disease and suffering.
“There are some important details to work out, but we should be ready to go soon. Before Sunday. And now, I must go see my wife,” Hugo said as he rose from the table. “I suppose now that I’m officially dead, it’s safe for you to return to Everly Manor. You can create a diversion while I sneak into the house. No one must see me alive, least of all Mark Watson.”
“Right,” Archie replied, still bemused. This was all proving to be too much for him.
Chapter 18
I carefully removed Michael’s wooden horse from his grasp as he finally fell solidly asleep. He carried that horse with him everywhere and reached for it first thing in the morning when he woke up. Valentine didn’t have such attachments, at least not physical ones, but she constantly asked for Hugo and Archie, the two men in her life who meant everything to her. Lately, she’d warmed to Joe a little, the groom who took her out on her pony every day, but she tolerated him more than liked him. Archie was the only person whom Valentine ever tried to please, possibly because he wasn’t impressed with her tantrums or demands. When Archie finally doled out a word of approval, Valentine swelled with pride like a balloon and glowed for hours.
She never tried as hard to please Hugo, but then again, she didn’t need to. Hugo doted on her the way he’d doted on Elena. She was his little girl, his princess, the daughter who could do no wrong. At times, I’d wished he was sterner with her, but at the moment, I would give anything to have my family back together. I pushed away the nagging thought that my children might never see their father again. I simply couldn’t bear to think along those lines. I kept them out of the dining room where Max’s coffin still rested. Seeing Max would break their hearts since they would believe him to be their father, and I was in no position to tell them otherwise.
My morbid reverie was interrupted by a desperate cry coming from downstairs. Cook and the rest of the servants had already gone up, having finished their tasks for the day, and would all be in their rooms on the top floor of the house. Perhaps one of the girls had come downstairs for something and saw a mouse. Nevertheless, I had to investigate. I was still fully dressed, so I tiptoed from the room so as not to wake up the children and made my way downstairs. I should have taken a candle since the downstairs was nearly pitch dark. Harriet always closed the shutters for the night, and all the candles had been extinguished, save the ones by Max’s coffin. I walked down the stairs slowly, mindful of missing a step, then stopped. I thought I heard something coming from the dining room, which was the last place I would have expected any commotion under the circumstances.
I inched forward, certain that I’d heard sounds of a scuffle coming from within, and pushed open the door a crack. A tall candle burned at Max’s feet and one at his head. In the flickering light, he looked as if he were asleep, his white face reminiscent of a vampire resting in his coffin. I heard a strange sound and stepped deeper into the room. Mark Watson’s back was to me, but I clearly saw Frances. He’d pushed her up against the wall and had one hand over her mouth as he groped beneath her skirts. She was making strangled noises and trying to throw her attacker off, but Watson was a big man, and one in the throes of lust. Frances looked terrified, her eyes huge in her pale face. She must have seen me because she suddenly stopped struggling, giving the game away.
Mark Watson uttered a profanity and released her as he spun around to find me standing behind him with a poker at the ready. I was breathing heavily, my blood roaring in my ears with fury. I would have happily buried the poker in the man’s gut if he so much as moved. Watson wasn’t the brightest light, but he was smart enough to perceive the imminent threat. He saw it in my eyes. He raised his hands and slowly stepped away from Frances.
“Just a bit o’ sport, yer ladyship,” he explained, a crooked smile on his face. “She misses ‘er husband, is all.”
“So, you thought you’d step into his place?” I demanded, my fury increasing tenfold.
“A woman needs a man to keep ‘er happy,” he replied, licking his lips.
“She doesn’t look very happy to me,” I spat back.
“Few women are eager for it, me lady, but once they are on their back, they tend to enjoy it.” Mark Watson was still holding his hands up in surrender, but the look on his face was one of insolence.
I gaped at the man, stunned that he would speak to me that way. He’d been respectful enough for the first two days, but now things had changed. In his eyes, I was a widow, with no man to protect me. Lord Everly wouldn’t be coming back, and if Archie showed up, Mark Watson would deal with him. Archie and Watson were well-matched physically, and Watson had the support of the villagers, especially the blacksmith who was a particular friend of his. He was no longer intimidated by my position and thought he could take what he wanted, which in this case was Frances. Not for the first time I realized what a curse beauty could be. Had Frances been plain, she might have had a much happier life, or at least a safer one. Being a beautiful young woman made her a target in this century where men often took what they wanted regardless of whether consent was given or not.
I motioned for Frances to move away from the wall and get behind me. She scurried over. I could hear her ragged breathing as she stood behind me. I could only imagine the memories Watson’s assault would have brought back to her. Frances wasn’t crying, but I could feel her terror without even looking at her.
I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but I advanced on Watson, the fear and anger of the past few days overtaking all reason. I felt an emotion that I had only experienced once or twice in my life — pure bloodlust. I was gratified to see fear in Mark Watson’s eyes as he realized that I wasn’t just bluffing. He backed away, and held his hands out in front of him to ward off the attack.
“It won’t ‘appen agai
n, yer ladyship. I swear,” he stammered. I bared my teeth in a vicious grin as he bumped into the wall. There was no place for him to go. I held the poker with both hands and pushed the tip into his stomach until I felt the resistance of hard muscle. Watson was strong and could probably overpower me quite easily if he grabbed the poker, so I had better make this count. I pushed the poker harder, hearing him gasp as the sharp iron tip scratched the skin.
“Neve, don’t,” Frances moaned behind me. “They’ll kill you for sure.”
I knew she was right. As much as I wanted to cause injury to the man, hurting him would only make the case against me stronger. I couldn’t afford to face charges of aggravated assault as well, but there was one thing I could do. Mark Watson believed the stories of witchcraft, being the ignorant sod that he was. I’d seen him make the sign of the Devil behind my back, sticking out the pinky and forefinger to represent horns. All I had to do was confirm what he already suspected to frighten him off.
“If you ever lay your hands on Mistress Hicks or anyone in this house again, I will kill you. And I will do it without laying a finger on you. I will summon my familiar and watch him suck the soul from your body as your blood flows from your veins. Do you hear me?” I growled, hoping I’d sounded convincing. Watson knew exactly what I was implying. He went white to the roots of his hair as he glared at me. He looked defiant, but I could see that he was scared.
“Witch,” Watson hissed under his breath. “Ye are no’ long for this world.” He lunged forward and grabbed the poker, easily yanking it out of my hands and turning the tip toward me. An ugly smile spread across his face as he advanced on me. I suppose I should have been afraid, but all I felt was overwhelming anger. I didn’t back down, but stood in front of Frances like a lioness protecting her cub.
“Go on then,” I goaded him. “And see what happens.”
He advanced slowly, torn by momentary indecision. He had complete power over Frances and myself at that moment, but my words had made an impact. I could see the conflict playing out on his face, but his desire for violence won out. He seemed to make up his mind as he approached us. Mark Watson was now in front of the door, his back turned to the corridor as he leered at me. He held the poker like a spear, raised in his hand with the tip pointing at my heart. I couldn’t be sure he meant to use it, but the rational part of my brain told me that he could very easily murder me. I was completely helpless against him, and it would be easy enough for him to explain what happened, and describe in detail what I threatened him with.
I wished Frances would do something, or distract him at the very least so that I could grab something to defend myself with, but she was frozen with fright. I heard her gasp behind me, but assumed it was just fear. Mark Watson gave her a curious look, his eyes sliding away from mine in surprise. Frances held out a shaking hand and pointed to something behind Watson with one finger, her mouth forming an O of surprise.
A hooded figure materialized behind Mark Watson, a dagger in his hand like an avenging angel. He held the blade to Watson’s throat with his left hand while he applied pressure to the man’s wrist to force him to drop the poker. Watson stood frozen, unsure of who was behind him, but terrified to the core of his being. As far as he knew, no one was in the house besides us and the female staff. His eyes grew huge in his face and he trembled visibly.
“Ye’ve summoned yer familiar,” he whimpered, giving me an imploring look. “Please yer ladyship, I meant no harm.”
“I did warn you,” I replied with great satisfaction.
I could see Archie’s impish grin behind Watson’s head. He was enjoying this. He must have heard what I said as he approached the door, and decided to use it to his advantage. He pressed the blade harder to Watson’s throat, forcing him to cry out.
“Leave this house at once, or you will suffer the consequences,” I said, my voice low and full of foreboding. “Release him,” I said to Archie.
Archie slowly removed the dagger as Watson spun about and dashed past him with a shriek of terror. I heard the pounding of footsteps on the stone floor of the foyer and then the slamming of the front door. He would either run home and keep the incident to himself, or go straight into the village and cry “Witchcraft!” I didn’t know the man well, but I’d seen the swagger in his step and the cockiness in his eyes. To admit that he’d been bested by a woman would do no favors to his reputation in the village. I concluded that Mark Watson would go home and rationalize what happened until he could justify running away and screaming like a little girl, making himself out to be wronged party.
“Are you all right, your ladyship?” Archie demanded as he sheathed his dagger, pushed back the hood, and came toward me. He was speaking to me, but his eyes were on Frances. He needed reassurance that she hadn’t been accosted by Watson, so I nodded and stepped aside leaving the two of them together. I heard Frances’s cry as she flew into Archie’s arms. Archie’s tone changed from gruffness to a whisper filled with longing as he took her into his arms. “Franny,” he breathed, “you are safe now.”
Chapter 19
My legs felt like lead as I trudged up the stairs. I wanted to ask Archie why he came alone and what happened to Hugo, but the news would keep. Archie and Frances deserved a few moments together. Archie would come and talk to me when he was ready, and I needed a stiff drink to steady my nerves. Now that it was all over, my hands shook, and my heart raced making me lightheaded. I had no doubt in my mind that Mark Watson would not have just given up. He would have hurt me to get to Frances, confident that there would be no consequences.
I couldn’t help wondering if Reverend Snow was blind to Watson’s temper, or if he’d chosen him as my jailer with precisely that penchant for violence in mind. I hoped the former. I couldn’t bear to think that the spiritual leader of this community would condone Watson’s behavior. I still hoped that Reverend Snow would speak out on my behalf at the trial, but the hope was fading fast. I would truly be on my own in there, but the knowledge that Archie was back gave me a modicum of peace.
I took a deep breath before gently turning the door handle for fear of waking up the children. I was suddenly exhausted, and all I wanted was to climb into bed and snuggle up next to them. Their warm bodies and sweet childish smell always soothed my senses, and I longed to lose myself in sleep. I needed rest to face whatever tomorrow brought. There was only one more day before the trial. I splashed an inch of brandy into a glass from the decanter Hugo kept on the mantel and swallowed it in one gulp. The brandy burned its way down my gullet, but didn’t seem to do much to calm me. I considered a refill, but then changed my mind. What I needed was sleep.
It took me longer than usual to undo my laces and remove my gown. Normally, I didn’t need any help undressing, but tonight my hands just wouldn’t work, and I had to struggle with several knots before I could finally remove the bodice. The skirt was easier. I sighed with relief as I pulled my night shift on and climbed into the high bed. The children were sound asleep, Valentine’s arm protectively around Michael. She teased him during the day, but when her defenses were down, she was really quite sweet. I blew out the candle and closed my eyes, but images of Frances’s frightened face and Mark Watson’s leer danced before my eyes. I was physically tired, but my mind was overwrought. I was glad that the room wasn’t completely dark. The light from the fire illuminated the dark corners and made me feel slightly safer, although it was just an illusion.
I was just beginning to calm down when the door handle slowly turned, and I shot up like a Jack-in-the-box, suddenly terrified. Archie wouldn’t just come in without knocking, and anyway, I heard him and Frances go to their own room some while ago. What if Watson was back to finish what he started? I hadn’t locked the front door after he ran from the house, I realized. I’d been too shaken. I assumed that Archie locked up, but he might have forgotten as well.
I stared at the door, wondering if I had enough time to find a weapon. The only thing to hand was Michael’s horse. Much good would it do me.
A candlestick, I thought frantically as I looked about me. I’d left the candle on the mantel; I was helpless. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the door opened and a dark shadow entered, the face concealed by the low brim of the hat. My heart began to pound, but this time it was with joy. I didn’t need to see the face; I’d know him anywhere.
“Hugo,” I squealed as I slid out of bed and straight into his arms. He looked tired and unkempt, but otherwise unharmed. I clung to him for what seemed like an hour, needing to feel his solid presence and the beating of his heart. Hugo just held me against him, his stubbled jaw rough against my temple. He didn’t say anything, but there was no need. He was alive and free, which was all that mattered.
Hugo lowered his head, and I raised my face to his kiss. Suddenly, I couldn’t think straight. A roaring fire burned in my belly as I tore at Hugo’s clothes. He didn’t require much prompting. He shrugged off the cloak and yanked at the laces of his breeches as I pulled off his shirt. Hugo laid me down on the rug in front of the hearth. He kissed me hard and pushed up my shift. His hand reached between my legs, but I brushed it away. I was more than ready. He understood my need and plunged into my body, stifling my cry with his mouth. Hugo might have taken his time, but I slammed my hips against his, matching him thrust for thrust. I didn’t want tenderness; I wanted unbridled sexual fury. Our lovemaking was frenzied, the tempest over in a few short minutes. Hugo rested his head against my shoulder as I wrapped my arms around him. I felt as limp as a rag doll, but my womb still vibrated with the aftershocks of Hugo’s efforts. He lay still, his breathing ragged, his heart thumping against my breast. Hugo groped for his cloak and pulled it over us should the children suddenly wake. Neither one of us seemed to have the strength to say anything, so we just lay by the dying fire until the flames turned to embers and the room grew colder.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 10