“Neve, Max said something to me the last time we spoke. He suggested that I take his place. He said something about never having been fingerprinted, but I didn’t really comprehend his meaning. He also mentioned something about his dentist and physician. I know it was important, but couldn’t extract the full meaning from his remarks. Do you know what he meant?”
“Yes, I do,” I replied happily. For some reason, knowing that Max had given Hugo his blessing meant the world to me. I knew that being the honorable man Hugo was, he wouldn’t feel right about assuming someone else’s identity, but since Max encouraged him to do it, Hugo was more willing to accept the possibility of this new life.
“What Max meant was that without fingerprints, the police can’t prove that you are not Max Everly. His doctor and dentist are the only two people who can disprove your identity, but they would not be able to do that of their own accord. The doctor-patient relationship is confidential. They cannot violate that unless there’s a warrant from the police or a court subpoena.”
“So, Max was in earnest?” Hugo asked, still amazed that his archenemy would genuinely wish to help him.
“Yes, he was. If we can figure out a way to explain your disappearance, you would be able to step into Max’s shoes and take over his identity,” I explained, getting more excited by the minute.
“But what about you?” Hugo asked.
“How do I explain being gone for nearly four years and then turning up with two children? That’s something we’ll need to work out. Oh, God,” I said, the penny dropping at last, “now I know what Simon meant.”
“About what?”
“Simon knew that Lord Hugo Everly died in 1689. He’d either seen the grave or had found something in the history books. He gave me his card and invited me to call him should I ever need his help. He knew, Hugo. He knew I’d be coming back, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell me that I’d be coming back alone.”
“It was kind of him to spare you. He’s a good man, Simon,” Hugo replied as he rose from the tub and reached for a towel. As Hugo dried off, I had a sudden thought which nearly ripped my innards out. Frances and Archie. We would have to leave them behind. We’d never see them again, never know what happened to them, unless they left some kind of communication for us to find in the future.
Frances and Archie were the closest thing I’d ever had to family. My foster parents had been good people, but I never felt the kind of closeness with my foster-mother Linda as I did with Frances. Frances was the sister I never had. She was my best friend, my confidante, my support system, as I was hers. How could I just leave her behind? And Archie was Hugo’s closest friend. They were from different social classes and backgrounds, but no two men were more devoted to each other. What would Archie do without Hugo? And where would they go once Clarence took possession of the estate?
I hadn’t realized I was crying until Hugo drew me to him and held me tight. “I offered for them to come with us,” he said softly. “I know it would be difficult, but Archie is used to manual work. It would be easier for him to adjust, and as Lord Everly, I would be able to take care of them.”
“What did he say?” I gulped. I wanted to hear that Archie agreed readily, but by this point, I knew him too well. Archie wouldn’t readily accept the notion of traveling to the future, nor would he relish the idea of being completely dependent on Hugo. He was dependent on Hugo now, but by choice, not from necessity. He was a capable man who would inherit his father’s farm after his death. It wasn’t much, but it was property which would be his and he could pass on to his children.
“He said no, but he was in shock. Perhaps he’ll talk it over with Frances and change his mind,” Hugo replied, but I could see from his expression that he didn’t hold out much hope of Archie coming around.
Chapter 23
I watched from the window as Hugo’s tall shape vanished into the woods behind the house, his black cloak billowing like a sail in the breeze. He’d stay with Horatio Hicks until it was time for us to leave, since no one could know that he was still alive. Hugo stood by the window for a long time after his bath, watching the children playing outside with Archie, an expression of such tenderness on his face that it nearly broke my heart.
“I thought I’d never see them again,” he said softly. “I’ve been blessed with another chance. What have I done to deserve such luck?” He tore his eyes away from the children and looked at me, a knowing smile on his face. “I met you, and it changed my life.”
He pulled me to him, and we just stood there for a bit, savoring this moment in time when we were together, and at peace. He didn’t say a word, but I knew he was thinking of Elena, as was I. If only she’d lived long enough to come to the future.
“You must go before anyone sees you,” I said, wishing we could just remain in our safe little universe forever. So much was about to change.
“I’ll see you tonight, as planned,” Hugo said as he gave me a parting kiss.
“Tonight.”
We had decided to leave this evening when the church was sure to be deserted. The church in the twenty-first century was bound to be empty as well. Not many modern-day people went to church on Saturday night; the pub was their preferred place of worship. We needed the cover of darkness for our plan, and it was imperative to get away before the trial began tomorrow. A few more hours and we would be gone, if everything went according to plan.
Mark Watson had arrived an hour ago. His eyes were fixed on the toes of his boots as I came down the stairs, but he was now armed with a sword, and I saw the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his boot. I was sure that he hadn’t told anyone of what occurred last night, but he was still visibly shaken.
He gazed up in surprise when he saw Archie. “Yer back,” he exclaimed, his expression one of apprehension. I could see the wheels turning in his feeble brain. Either it had been Archie who held him at knifepoint last night, or Archie had returned this morning, and he had indeed experienced something otherworldly. I noticed a twitch of Archie’s lips as he bid Mark a good day.
“Yes, I just returned this morning,” he said nonchalantly. “Left London as soon as they opened the gates and rode hell-for-leather. Missed my wife, you know,” Archie added with a touch of menace. Mark Watson noticeably blanched, but said nothing and took his seat by the door. At least he didn’t bring anyone with him. Having more guards would complicate our escape.
I finally stepped away from the window and looked around the room. There was much to do, but my preparations had to be clandestine since I didn’t want the servants or Mark Watson to suspect a thing. I pulled open the trunk containing my gowns. I’d need some fabric. Having lived in the seventeenth century for years now, I’d been forced to learn to sew, and now I was grateful for the skill. I’d make some modern-day clothes for us. We wouldn’t win any fashion awards, but at least we wouldn’t look as if we were wearing Halloween costumes in April. Hugo, especially, had to look right, in case someone saw him and recognized him as Max Everly. We’d have a lot of talking to do, and having to explain away period clothes would make things that much more difficult. I had no plan beyond getting to Simon, but there was a good chance that he might not be in Cranley, or unable to help. There was the hunting lodge where Hugo and I had hidden out before, but now we had two small children, so we’d need to see to their needs before anything else.
I selected a gown of soft, claret-colored velvet. It had a simple scoop neck bodice and fitted sleeves. Paired with a knee-length skirt it would look like an ordinary dress. All I had to do was shorten the skirt, which was voluminous enough to leave me enough fabric to make a simple dress for Valentine. Michael still wore gowns much of the time, as was the custom for little boys, but he’d need trousers and a shirt. Dressing Hugo was the bigger problem. Men’s fashions of the time were so elaborate that there wasn’t a single garment that wasn’t satin, silk, velvet, or damask. Coats were embroidered, and breeches were knee-length and often ornamented with bows, not something Hugo could
wear to the twenty-first century. I couldn’t even find any simple dark-colored fabric for trousers.
I closed the trunk, then left the room and went down the corridor to what had been Jane’s room while she resided at Everly Manor. Jane had been in mourning for her husband when I met her, her gowns made of sober dark cloth. Perhaps she’d left something behind. I felt like an intruder in the room that had once belonged to Hugo’s sister, but I pushed aside my reservations and went to work, searching the room. Jane had taken her trunk when she returned to her estate in Kent, but she left behind her black cloak. She’d taken the heavier, fur-lined winter cloak, but this was a lighter one, worn in spring and fall, the cloak she had been wearing when she lured me into a trap and watched me hauled off to Newgate Prison. I hadn’t realized that she returned to Everly Manor for her things, but she must have, since the cloak still hung on a peg in the garderobe. I looked at the garment with distaste. The fabric was something like gabardine, lined with gray silk. It would have to do.
I took the cloak back to my room and spread it out on the floor, scissors in hand. I had to get this right since I wouldn’t have a chance to correct my mistake. I would cut out the patterns, then have Frances help me with the sewing. She was a deft hand with the needle, her stitches small and neat. We only had a few hours to get everything ready, but no one would be surprised if I stayed in my room all day. After all, I was officially in mourning, and I didn’t even have a proper gown for the occasion. Tomorrow, I would be expected to appear at the church and face charges against me, but today, I would be left alone.
I consulted the paper where I’d written down Hugo’s measurements. I was glad I had the presence of mind to take them before he left since I couldn’t use any of his clothes as a sample. Hugo stood patiently while I measured and remeasured, needing to get the numbers right. I would have to make a button-fly since I didn’t have a zipper, and that would be a challenge. I’d never done this type of sewing before. It was much easier to make a baby gown or mend an underskirt than create something from scratch. I took a deep breath and began to cut.
It took me over an hour, but by the time I was finished, I had the patterns for Hugo’s trousers and a dress for Valentine. Michael’s clothes would have to wait. I hid everything in the trunk and went downstairs in search of Frances. Everyone was seated at the large table in the kitchen, since the dining room table was otherwise occupied at the moment.
“When is Papa coming back?” Valentine whined as I entered the kitchen. I was actually starving, so would take a short break for lunch, I decided.
“Soon, darling,” I lied, earning a reproachful look from Harriet. People didn’t lie to children about death. Losing a parent, or both, was so common that children as young as Valentine were acutely aware of death all around them. I knew that the servants expected me to take the children into the dining room and have them say goodbye to their father, but they didn’t dare to criticize me openly, and I instructed them to keep the door to the dining room shut just in case one of the kids wondered in.
I nodded to Jem who was seated across from me. He looked sullen and pale, and didn’t return my greeting. Frances and Archie were next to him, their expressions sober. We made small talk while Polly set steaming dishes on the table. Today’s midday meal was leftovers from last night, but no one minded. Food was not to be wasted, and a hot meal was still preferable to a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese. We all helped ourselves and tucked in.
“Archie, would you mind going to see Reverend Snow? A burial must be arranged, and since I’m not allowed to leave the house, it falls to you to reason with Reverend Snow,” I said.
Archie threw me a knowing look. “You know what he will say.”
“Yes, I do, but do what you can. Frances, I would greatly appreciate your help in sewing some mourning clothes for myself and the children. Perhaps we can do this in my room. The light is better there.”
“Of course,” Frances mumbled.
“Jemmy,” I said softly. “It has been wonderful to see you, but I think it’s time you returned to your family. Your father must be worried sick.”
I needed Jem to leave, but wasn’t sure how to convince him to return to his family without it seeming like I was kicking him out, which, in fact, I was. Jem was a curious boy and would get in the way of our plan and ask too many questions. Besides, I really did sympathize with Nicholas Marsden. I knew that whatever his shortcomings, he loved his son and wanted to make him happy, and harboring Jem the way we had been wasn’t fair to his father.
Jem got the idea that he could simply stay with us, but as a mother myself, I couldn’t allow that. He had to return to his family, and his own future. I could understand Jem’s reluctance to deal with his stepmother and new baby brother, but he wasn’t the first child to feel resentful when a parent remarried or when a new baby was introduced into the household. As much as I loved him, I had to let him go, for his own sake.
**
I glanced at Frances as we settled by the window with our sewing. Frances was stitching the dress for Valentine, while I worked on Hugo’s trousers. They were looking more like skinny jeans than dress slacks, but they’d have to do. Frances sat with her head bent over her sewing, a closed expression on her face as she stabbed the needle into the velvet.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked Frances after a prolonged silence. I was instantly sorry. Frances’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to say something, but the tears just slid down her cheeks, dripping onto the little dress and leaving dark spots.
She shook her head, unable to speak. “Won’t you change your mind?” I asked gently. “Are you certain?”
“About what?” Frances croaked. She let the dress fall to her knees, unable to sew with shaking hands, but continued to stare at it.
“About coming with us.”
Frances raised her tear-stained face to me, gaping in genuine surprise.
“He didn’t tell you, did he?” It was more of a statement than a question. I’d put my foot in it, and now I’d come between Frances and Archie.
Frances shook her head as she averted her eyes again. My first impulse was to tell Frances to defy Archie, and let him know her own desires, but I bit my tongue and continued sewing. It wasn’t my place to interfere in their marriage. If Archie kept things from Frances, he had his reasons. I knew him well enough to know that he would die for her without a second thought. Archie loved Frances with a fierceness one rarely saw in real life. Perhaps he thought he was protecting her, or maybe he was protecting himself.
Archie was a man of his time. Going into the unknown would be daunting, to say the least, especially when he’d be fully aware of his limitations. I was sure that Hugo painted a realistic picture, having faced difficulties himself when I spirited him into the future. Perhaps Archie already had a plan for their future, and of course, there was his elderly father who’d lost his wife and grandchildren to illness, his daughter to God, and would be heartbroken to lose his son and daughter-in-law as well, especially if they vanished without any explanation. I hadn’t seen the elder Hicks since the wedding, but Archie mentioned that he was suffering from scurvy and perhaps some other ailment. By seventeenth-century standards, Horatio Hicks was a very old man, and although Archie hadn’t said as much, wasn’t expected to last much longer.
Frances and I continued to sew in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. We were consumed with melancholy, but there was also love. There was an unspoken bond between us, something that would transcend the centuries and last for as long as we both lived. I reached out and took Frances’s hand, and she grasped it with her cool fingers, her eyes full. I knew that I had her support, no matter what, as she had mine. We weren’t related by blood, but our experiences over the past few years bonded us for life, and neither one of us would ever be able to fill the hole that would be left by the other’s absence.
Chapter 24
“Reverend Snow was sympathetic,” Archie said as he faced me across Max’s c
offin, “but the answer is no. Since Lord Everly’s death is clearly a suicide, he cannot be buried in consecrated ground.”
Archie was stating the case in the most diplomatic way possible, but I knew the reality of what a burial at a crossroads entailed. Self-murder was viewed as a crime against God, so the perpetrator was condemned not only in this life, but the next, the promise of Heaven or any kind of divine forgiveness denied them for eternity. A suicide was not only barred by the Church from having a Christian burial, but had a stake driven through the heart and buried at night by moonlight with no mourners present. Frequently, the grave was desecrated with rubbish and dung right after the burial as a sign of disrespect. There was no sympathy for anyone who took their own life, no matter the reason, and their families bore the shame for generations to come. In some extreme cases, the suicide’s property was forfeit, leaving the family destitute. If that were to happen, Clarence would not inherit, and the future we’d left behind would be altered forever.
“Is there nothing more than can be done for Max?” I asked, already knowing the answer. But I was fairly certain that Max hadn’t been buried at a crossroads. If that were the case, Simon would never have seen the gravestone. I’d been to the village in the twenty-first century and drove around, not only by myself but with Max. Had someone been buried at a crossroads and there was still a marker, I would have seen it, and Max would have pointed it out, especially if it was his mysterious ancestor. Of course, all traces of the grave might have been long gone by the twenty-first century, and perhaps the family chose to conveniently “forget” that bit of history and pretend that it never happened, seeing it as a dark stain on the family name.
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