Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Ho ho,” Glen cried out. “Married a rebel, did ya? Was he a Catholic then? A Jacobite? I just read a great series about the whole Jacobite thing. Very diverting when you can’t sleep.”

  I was partially grateful for Glen’s flippant attitude. I couldn’t bear to go into the ins and outs of seventeenth-century politics and Hugo’s role. If Glen wanted to believe Hugo was a Jacobite, then that was fine with me. I wasn’t even sure if the term existed in the seventeenth century, or if it became popular later on, but Glen didn’t seem to care, so neither did I.

  “Thanks for lunch. Gotta dash. We’re working on a big project, a sort of rip-off of Doctor Who, so my department is working overtime. Are you thinking of returning to work? Perhaps Lawrence Spellman could be convinced to give you your job back. We have two location scouts now, but they are not nearly as good as you were. You always had that special feeling for a place.”

  “Thanks Glen, but getting a job is not a priority right now. I must be here for my children.”

  “But how will you support yourself?” he asked, always practical. “And whose place is this anyway?”

  “It belongs to a friend.”

  “Ah, you’ve got a new man already. Good for you. Don’t let the grass grow under your feet, I always say.” Glen was being a bit insensitive, but his comments weren’t mean-spirited, just thoughtless. He gave me a peck on the cheek as he turned to leave. “I’ll stop by on Saturday with the docs. See ya.”

  I shut the door behind Glen, feeling ashamed and excited at the same time. Could I really pull this off?

  Chapter 38

  Hugo turned out the light, threw open the window, and sank into a comfortable armchair. Sitting in the dark was comforting somehow, a reprieve for the senses after the glaring light of electricity, which he still found harsh after the soft light of candles. A pleasant breeze caressed his face, and the smell of spring was in the air like an intoxicating elixir beckoning one to abandon the apathy of winter and embrace life and all it had to offer.

  The brief trip to London to see Neve and the children had been heartbreakingly joyful, but it made Hugo feel his isolation more acutely after leaving them. They’d only had a few hours together, reminding him of how much he was missing every single day that he wasn’t with them. Valentine barely let go of his hand, and Michael clung to him as if he’d come back from the dead. The children chattered incessantly, their need to fill him in on all the new things they’d discovered overwhelming after weeks of separation.

  They’d changed so much in such a short time. Valentine seemed more grown up somehow, suddenly interested in all the girly things a child her age would be. And Michael seemed much less timid than he had been in the past. He asserted himself when Valentine tried to cut in on his time with Hugo, and proudly showed Hugo his new favorite toy, a motorized police car with doors that opened and closed, real flashing lights, and a siren. The carved wooden horse that Michael never parted with since Archie gave it to him in France lay forgotten on the bedside table.

  Hugo barely had a chance to talk to Neve, but was glad to see that she seemed to be adjusting well. Neve looked more animated, more relaxed than he’d seen her in months. Things weren’t necessarily simpler, but her mood was much improved. Neve had things to accomplish, and was rediscovering what it was like to be able to have some control over her daily life again. She’d often complained of having to wait around helplessly while events took place which had the power to change her life. That had been the role of a woman in the seventeenth century, but now she had the power to make decisions and fend for herself.

  She’d started wearing make-up again, which made her features appear more dramatic and exaggerated. Hugo knew he’d get used to the change in time, but for the first few minutes, Neve seemed like a stranger, some other man’s wife who vaguely resembled his own. Gone were the gowns, hose, and elaborate hairstyles. Neve was wearing a comfortable pair of jeans paired with a silk top, her wavy blonde hair loose about her shoulders. She looked young and graceful without the voluminous skirts and full sleeves. Hugo supposed that he looked different to her as well. He felt different, and would have liked to talk to Neve for a while, and share with her all the things he was learning and going through, but the children barely gave them a moment of peace, so the conversation would have to take place over the telephone and not in person, as Hugo had hoped.

  All too soon Simon had returned. He’d gone out to run some errands in order to give the Everlys some private time, but he came back for dinner, which consisted of pizza and juice, the kids’ favorite new food. Simon opened a bottle of wine for the adults, and they finished it off while the children watched a little television before bedtime. Valentine and Michael clung to Hugo when he tried to say goodbye, their good spirits dissipating into a flood of tears. Only the promise of a long hot bath finally distracted them from their misery, and after a hasty goodbye, Hugo and Simon were on their way back to Surrey, and back to the deception. Only that morning Hugo had fantasized about reuniting the family, but it was too soon, given the circumstances.

  Hugo had decided to buy some picture books for the children before setting off for London that afternoon. He’d walked into the village with Tilly on his heels, glad to see that people no longer stared at him as if he were a curiosity. Several people called out a greeting while others nodded in acknowledgment. It seemed the village was beginning to accept him as one of their own. Hugo was just about to enter the bookshop when DI Robert Knowles stepped out with his little girl. The child was about a year older than Valentine, a sweet little thing named Lucy.

  “Hello, Bobby,” Hugo said, feeling self-conscious at addressing the police officer in such a familiar way, but that’s what Max would have called him. Knowles just nodded, not bothering to respond.

  “Hello,” Lucy said as she smiled up at him. “I got a new book,” she shared, showing him the beautiful book Knowles had just bought for her. Hugo almost blurted out that he was there to buy books for his children, but bit his tongue just in time. DI Knowles was watching him carefully, his gaze missing nothing. He’d noticed that Hugo was holding something back. He leaned forward ever so slightly and spoke in a low voice, meant only for Hugo’s ears.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I mean to find out, and when I do, I will take you down.”

  “Come, sweetheart,” he said to Lucy in a completely different tone. “Mum will be expecting us back in time for lunch.”

  “Bye,” Lucy called out as she waved to Hugo and trotted off after her father.

  Hugo spent a few minutes browsing the children’s section before choosing several books he thought the children would enjoy, but Bobby’s words stayed with him the whole day.

  “You all right, mate?” Simon asked as they set off for London an hour later. “You seem preoccupied.”

  “Just eager to see my family,” Hugo replied, reluctant to tell Simon of his run-in with Knowles. Simon had done more than enough for him already, and he didn’t intend to burden him with this.

  Now that Hugo was alone, he needed to think of a way to deal with the situation. Had it been just him, he would have gone off somewhere and began a new life, but he had Neve and the children to think of. They needed a home and a future. A gentle rain began to fall outside, the pitter-patter of raindrops strangely soothing to Hugo’s frayed nerves. His mind strayed to Archie, as it so often did. He could almost feel Archie’s presence in his mind.

  “I wish you were here, old friend,” Hugo said into the darkness. “Between the two of us, we could have figured this out.”

  But, he was alone, and he needed to find a way to get one step ahead of DI Knowles. I need to simplify this, Hugo thought. He didn’t know nearly enough about how things were done in the twenty-first century, but he did know something of human nature, which hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Everyone had weaknesses which made them vulnerable, and everyone made mistakes. Now all he had to do was find Knowles’s.

  Chapter 39

  B
obby Knowles tiptoed from his daughter’s room, having just read her a story from the new book. She loved fairy stories, his Lucy, just like her mother. Carol was a dreamer, a fantasist, a woman who didn’t like dealing with the ugly side of life. Bobby supposed that’s what drew him to her in the first place, but sometimes, he wished he could be with someone who understood him better. Where Carol chose to see rainbows and butterflies, he saw motive, opportunity, and method. It made talking to her about his job difficult, and at some point during their fifteen-year marriage, he stopped. Carol didn’t want to hear it, and he grew tired of talking to someone who wasn’t interested. He had his mates for that, guys he’d known since he was in the academy and who provided the support he needed.

  Carol was in the kitchen doing the washing up after supper. She put her hands on her lower back and arched backward to ease the tension. “Give us a backrub, Bobby,” she said with a smile. “You have magic in your hands.”

  Bobby came up behind Carol and began to rub her back. Carol made sounds of contentment, making Bobby think that she might be amenable to other ideas. He kissed her neck lightly, then moved on to her earlobe as Carol leaned back into him. Her belly bulged in front of her, their son kicking up a storm as if he resented his father’s presence. Lucy never kicked so fiercely. Bobby wrapped his arms around Carol and placed his hands over her belly in an effort to connect with the baby, but the moment was gone, and Carol swatted him with a tea towel.

  “I’m going to bed. Can you finish up here?”

  “Sure,” Bobby replied, disappointed and angry. They hadn’t made love in weeks, possibly even months. Carol had been more than willing when she decided she wanted to have another baby, but once the test came back positive, she seemed to lose all interest. She was hormonal and tired all the time, especially with Lucy being so demanding and threatened by the new baby, but he was still her husband, or so he liked to think.

  Carol had loved him once, he was sure of that, but now he couldn’t really say what she felt for him, other than dependency. They hardly talked anymore, and the few times they went out Carol insisted on inviting her sister. Bobby liked his brother and sister-in-law well enough, and although they always had a pleasant time, it prevented him and Carol from reconnecting. He’d hoped that having another baby would get them back on track, but Carol was so wrapped up in Lucy and the pregnancy that she barely spared him a few minutes. He left before she woke in the morning and came back just in time for supper, after which Carol usually went to give Lucy a bath and then toddled off to bed. He supposed that he was trying to justify his reasons for having an affair with Jess. He felt guilty when he was at home, but as soon as he was alone with Jess, all feelings of wrongdoing fled, and he was pumping with desire, something he hadn’t felt for Carol in at least a decade.

  Bobby finished the dishes and retired to his office. It was his man cave, and the only place in the house not yet invaded by Barbies, stuffed toys, and Carol’s pregnancy manuals. Bobby turned on the desk lamp and opened a manila folder marked “Everly”. He’d respected the Super’s decree and not done anything on work time, but no one said he couldn’t dig around on his own. He’d been conducting his own investigation over the past few days, and was as suspicious as ever.

  According to his findings, Max Everly had not accessed his bank account in over three years, nor had he used his mobile phone or credit cards. He never phoned home during the time he was missing, unless he used the landline at the cabin, if there even was one. Bobby would have to check on that. And how in the world did he get to the Highlands when he left Everly Manor without his wallet or car keys? Did he take a wad of cash with him? Did he hitchhike? If so, why did no one come forward when his face was plastered all over the telly? Someone must have seen him. And, if the man claiming to be Lord Everly wasn’t actually Max, then what happened to the real Max, and who was this impostor? How could he bear such a striking resemblance to Maximilian Everly? None of this made any sense at all, and all these questions were driving Bobby crazy. Max had been a good friend, and he couldn’t rest until he answered at least a few of them.

  Bobby absentmindedly spun his globe on its axis, watching the colorful countries speed by. He jabbed a finger at the orb, stopping it dead. He glanced at the map of England, then allowed his eyes to travel northward to Scotland. That’s where the answers were. He had to go see the place where Max had been hiding out, talk to the people in the area, and demand to see CCTV footage. If Max had been there for over three years, someone would have seen him, and spoken to him. He must have bought groceries, gone to the pub, went for walks.

  Bobby leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on the map. He’d make a long weekend out of this enquiry, and take Jess for a much-deserved getaway. No need for her to know that he was working. He’d be discreet, and find out what he needed to know. Then, if his suspicions hadn’t been allayed, he would go back to Superintendent Cummings and present his case. She could order a DNA test, and compare dental records. If this man was an impostor, modern science would prove it.

  May 1689

  Essex, England

  Chapter 40

  Jem vaulted into the saddle, happy to have escaped the strained atmosphere in the house. The baby was teething, his miserable cries echoing down from the nursery on the top floor. Jem’s stepmother was in a state, and his father was irritable and angry, unable to bear the incessant crying and the nervous state of his wife. He’d told her to visit the village wisewoman and get a remedy for the child, but she refused, claiming that no ignorant peasant was going to give some evil concoction to her baby. Jem had to admit that he felt sorry for the poor mite and wished that his stepmother would relent. The village women swore by Mother Goode’s skills and knowledge. But, this was no concern of his, and he was glad to be out in the fresh air, galloping on his horse, wind in his hair and sun on his face. It was the only place he felt truly free.

  Jem had gotten quite a thrashing for running away and not leaving word of where he was going, but his father grudgingly forgave him after a few days, happy to have Jem back home. Mistress Marsden, however, wasn’t nearly as pleased to have him back. She felt that Nicholas had been too lenient with Jem, and a more severe punishment was called for. She’d made Jem’s life a living hell for the past two weeks, finding reasons to punish him and cause him pain. His knees were permanently scarred by kneeling on hard peas for hours, and there were marks on his hands where she’d hit him with the riding crop when she caught him trying to saddle his horse when he should have been at his lessons.

  It was while reading with his tutor that Jem had hit on a plan for the future. Jem was certain that the estate would go to his baby brother— the legitimate son, conceived and born in church-sanctified wedlock. There was no point in rebelling or aggravating his father out of sheer spite. Seeing the relief on Nicholas Marsden’s face when Jem finally showed up at home ultimately convinced him that despite his bastard status, his father did care for him, and now that Lord and Lady Everly were gone, there was no one left in this world he could turn to anyway. The wisest course of action was to bide his time, keep his father and stepmother happy, and then, in a few years, ask his father to get him a commission in the army. Of course, Jem could simply join up, but he had no wish to be a regular foot soldier, or cannon fodder. He wanted to become a great general, like the Roman generals he read about in his books. He wanted to command legions, not march for days until his feet were sore and his stomach growled with hunger. Perhaps with his father’s money and influence, he could start out as a captain and make his way through the ranks.

  Archie would have made an excellent soldier, Jem thought wistfully. Archie had what it took not only to kill but to lead men into battle. He had presence of mind, keen intuition, and the ability to strategize, which most common soldiers lacked. Jem’s mood turned sour when he thought of Archie. He so wanted to accompany Frances to Guilford, and was sure that Lord Everly, had he been there, would have wished him to go with her. Archie needed his help, and
he wasn’t there. Of course, he could do nothing to free his friend, but he could go places Frances couldn’t, which was sometimes very helpful, and offer Frances his company and support. Instead, he was here; reading Latin and Greek, listening to the incessant crying of his baby brother, and trying to maintain a fragile peace with his father.

  Jem tied up the horse by his favorite spot and sat down on a fallen log, watching the stream flowing past, the water sparkling in the May sunshine. What if Archie were executed? Jem thought miserably. Archie had been like a beloved older brother, who taught him how to shoot and fish and approach a skittish horse. Archie had never babied him or comforted him the way Lord Everly had, but he taught him many a valuable lesson, and always treated him like a person, not a pet or an asset. Archie wasn’t one for gushing with approval, but when he bestowed that rare smile and clapped Jem on the back, Jem felt as if he could take flight, knowing that he managed to please the toughest of masters. Archie’s approval meant more to Jem than even Lord Everly’s because it was that much harder to gain.

  Jem knew that his father loved him, but Nicholas had never hit on that magic combination of love and respect that a boy Jem’s age needed. He still treated Jem like a child, and tried too hard to prove that bringing him back from France hadn’t been a colossal mistake. Sometimes Jem wished that his father would simply talk to him the way Hugo and Archie used to talk to him. He needed to be seen and heard, not merely looked after. Perhaps his father would have a better relationship with his younger son, having learned the hard lessons of parenting with Jem.

  Jem suddenly froze, a new idea settling into his head with a deafening thud. His stepmother wasn’t so emotional because of the teething baby. She’d been pale and prone to tears, and her already ample bosom seemed to have swelled of late. And Jem hadn’t heard his father visiting her bedchamber even once since coming back home. She was with child again, Jem thought with disgust. His father certainly hadn’t wasted any time. How many more babies would there be before his stepmother either grew too old to bear children or died in childbirth? Well, it didn’t matter. Another three years and he’d be gone from this place forever.