Jem picked up a handful of pebbles and began to throw them into the stream. Silent tears of misery and dejection flowed down his cheeks. Thankfully, no one would see him cry in this place, and even if they did, no one would care.
May 1689
Guilford, Surrey
Chapter 41
A lashing rain beat at the window, engulfing the room in perpetual gloom. It was nearly the end of May, but it was freezing cold, and the bedclothes were damp without a hot brick to warm them. Frances pulled the coverlet over her head and pulled up her knees in a desperate effort to get warm. Eventually, her teeth stopped chattering and she was able to relax slightly, but sleep wouldn’t come. She’d been in Guilford for a month now, and her days consisted of the same routine: get up, wash and dress, have breakfast, go to the prison, wait, either gain entrance or not, then come back to her room and fret. On fine days she took walks by the river, just to keep from going crazy within the four walls of her tiny garret.
Thanks to Lowry Gibbs, Frances got to see Archie at least a few times a week, but he had become silent and withdrawn. Archie’s eyes were always fixed on the door, and he kept asking questions about who let her in and how many guards she’d seen. What did it matter? They were all the same, for the most part, except Master Gibbs, who was at least kind to her, if for his own selfish reasons. Even he didn’t seem as interested in her these days since she gave him no elicit encouragement. He’d asked her for a kiss, and she nearly slapped the silly fool. She was a married woman, a woman whose husband was still alive. But Lowry assumed it wasn’t for long, and in her heart, she knew that to be the truth.
By nightfall, she’d have some supper then go to bed. She barely spoke to anyone, and no one paid her much mind either, not even the landlord. As long as she paid, she was invisible. And in a way, she was. She drifted through the town, ate in the dining room from time to time, but no one noticed her. She’d lost weight, her face was pale and drawn, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes caused by worry and sleepless nights. She might have stopped eating altogether if it weren’t for the babe growing inside her. Archie’s babe. She hadn’t told him yet. It seemed too cruel to tell him of a child he might never get to see or hold.
Frances had no illusions; she knew what the assizes would bring. The thought of losing Archie cut so deep that she couldn’t bear to think of it. She lived life one day at a time. Thinking of the future only brought her pain. Sometimes she dreamed that she was walking down a long, winding road through some barren landscape, with not a house or tree in sight. The lowering sky looked thunderous, and a thick fog swirled about her feet, making her falter and stumble. She clutched a small bundle to her chest, but the baby within wasn’t showing any signs of life, its form still and silent. Frances woke up from her dream with tears streaming down her face. Perhaps if the baby kicked she might have had some reassurance, but it was too soon to feel movement, so she had no idea if the child was thriving.
A few months ago, Frances would have been beside herself with joy to know she was pregnant again, but now the baby was a sad reminder of a life that would never be — a future stolen. She had no one to turn to, no one who would care for her or take her in besides Archie’s father. She would return to him after the trial and await the birth of her child. At least she would have a roof over her head and someone there to talk to about Archie and the man he had been. Frances didn’t think that Horatio Hicks would last out the year, but perhaps the thought of seeing his grandchild would force him to hold on.
Some days, Frances almost wished that Jem had come with her. She knew it would have been wrong to encourage him, but he was someone she could trust, someone she could talk to and reminisce with about the days when they were happier. Funny how a person forgot all the trials and worries of the past and only remembered the moments of joy. Frances often thought of sipping chocolate in a brasserie in Paris or sitting in the garden with Neve as Valentine slept next to them on her blanket. Even the trips to Versailles now seemed full of romance and excitement, the days filled with music and color.
Frances rarely thought of Luke Marsden or the baby she’d self-aborted, but Jem said that his uncle had married while in Constantinople. Perhaps the posting with Sir Trumbull hadn’t turned out as badly as Luke expected. She hoped he was happy. She hadn’t been fair to him, and for that she was sorry. Could God be punishing her for what she’d done? He offered her a good man and a baby, and she threw both away. And now she might lose another man and another baby, and these two she wanted to hold on to more than to life itself.
Thoughts of France always culminated in memories of the house outside Rouen where the love between her and Archie truly blossomed. She cried silently as she remembered the lazy afternoons and long talks over picnics by the stream. They shared their hopes and dreams, believing that the golden days would go on forever. She’d never been as happy as she had been in Rouen. And then they came back to England.
If only she could turn back the clock, to even a month ago. They should have gone to the future with Hugo and Neve. She should have insisted. Archie would have listened to her; he always did. At least they would still be together, and not torn apart by time and space, scattered across the universe like distant stars. Whatever hardship they might have faced couldn’t be nearly as awful or heartbreaking as her everyday reality. Frances gasped as a sharp pain tore through her belly, followed by another.
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered to her baby. “Please.”
May 2015
The Highlands, Scotland
Chapter 42
Bobby Knowles walked out of the little market, a shopping bag in his hands. He bought a bottle of wine, some cheese and grapes, imported pate, and a loaf of bread. The food was for the picnic he was planning, but the motive for going to the shop had been something else entirely. He’d chatted up the woman behind the counter, the owner’s wife, who was only too happy to talk. He’d never been to the Highlands before and expected the people to be taciturn and dismissive, but everyone had been very friendly and eager to have a chat, especially the American couple who owned the guest house. Those two seemed starved for conversation. For all their friendliness, the local folk hadn’t been as welcoming as the Americans would have liked, and their only real source of social interaction came from their paying guests. That’s how Bobby learned about the shop. If Max had lived in this area for over three years, he would have had to visit the McLeod’s shop at some point.
Mrs. McLeod was friendliness itself. She was a wholesome-looking woman in her early sixties whose tightly permed gray hair was the only sign of advancing age. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her rosy cheeks were punctuated by deep dimples. She wore a serviceable pinafore over her blue jeans and pretty jersey. It took Bobby nearly ten minutes of small talk to finally get around to what he wanted to know. Bobby casually asked if they had a CCTV camera since he’d been unable to spot one while browsing through the store.
“Och, no. What for?” Mrs. McLeod laughed, throwing up her hands. “We haven’t had a violent crime hereabouts in donkey’s years. A local lad stole a pack of gum; that was the extent of our crime wave.”
“Do you get many strangers in these parts?” Bobby asked as he examined the bottle of wine.
“Sometimes the folk from the guest house stop in to buy a drink or a snack, but no, not really. All locals. Been here since God was a baby.”
“What about Lord Everly? I heard he’d been staying nearby. A real recluse, I take it.”
“That he was,” the woman said. “My Angus made a delivery out there once every few months, but never saw hide nor hair of the man. Said the place looked deserted. But someone took the groceries in, and someone paid the bill, so I reckon someone was in that cottage.”
“Did he place the order himself?” Bobby asked, still trying to work out the logistics of the operation.
“No. He left a note pinned to the door with a list of things he needed in the next delivery. Angus would just take it
and fill the order.”
“Do you have any of his notes lying about?” Bobby asked, sensing a lead, but the woman suddenly clammed up, her face going from friendliness to anger in a matter of seconds.
“Now, listen up, laddie. We run a respectable business here, and people’s preferences are their own affair. How’d you like someone to scrutinize your shopping lists? If you’re quite finished here, you should be on your way. I have customers to attend to.” Mrs. McLeod was referring to a young man who’d been browsing the shelves while Bobby chatted her up. The young man had approached the counter, ready to pay for his purchases.
“Point taken, Mrs. McLeod,” Bobby relented, not wanting the woman to get her knickers in a twist. A note would have been useful, but it didn’t really prove anything. Bobby took his groceries and went out into the sunshine. It was a glorious day, and he had a lovely spot picked out, not too far away from the cottage where Max was said to have spent the past three and a half years.
Bobby waved happily when he saw Jess emerging from the guest house. He’d snuck out early to get the supplies, letting her sleep in, but she was ready, a spring in her step as she walked toward him, a smile lighting up her lovely face.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said, linking her arm through his.
“Good morning, my beautiful. I have a surprise for you.”
“Better than the surprise you had for me last night?” Jess asked innocently. Bobby could barely hide his smug smile. When at home, he lasted a good while but was never really up for another round. Last night, he’d made love to Jess three times in quick succession, leaving her quivering like a bowl of jelly and too exhausted to get up in time for breakfast. Being away from Carol made him feel young and carefree, and he felt the telltale stirring in his loins as he looked at Jess’s sweet young face. He was having a lovely time, and he had Lord Everly to thank for it.
May 1689
Guilford, Surrey
Chapter 43
Archie willed himself to remain perfectly still and silent as Lowry Gibbs escorted Frances from the cell. He wanted to call out to her, to ask her not to leave, to talk to him for just a few more minutes, but of course she couldn’t stay. The guards only allowed short visits, long enough for family members to bring food to the inmates and line the pockets of the guards, who charged them for the privilege. If the visitors refused to pay, the guards refused to pass on the food. No one cared if a prisoner died while awaiting trial. It happened all the time. A fresh corpse was carried out by the guards at least once a week. Of course, the guards were in no rush to remove the newly deceased, leaving the corpses in the cell for a few days to put the fear of God into the other prisoners who begged their loved ones to pay any bribe necessary to bring them food and drink. Thank God Frances had enough money to keep bribing the guards, since many women didn’t. They had to make a choice between spending all their money on sustaining a condemned man, or feeding their children.
Frances looked dreadful this morning, and Archie had only himself to blame for the state she was in. Frances had always been so lovely, but now she looked haggard and tired, the bloom gone from her cheeks from worrying about his sorry self. Archie leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. A pounding headache started behind his eyes and had now spread into his temples. He needed to sleep for a bit. He managed to stay awake for Franny’s visits, but he was really tired during the day since he wasn’t sleeping much at night. After a month of being chained to the wall, his muscles were weakened, and his beard and hair crawled with lice. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a wash, and his clothes were nothing more than tatters. He’d make a fine impression when brought before the judge. Good thing he had no intention of standing trial.
He needed to be well rested for tonight. Good thing that Frances had been allowed in today. Having food in his belly was a definite plus. He was as weak as a newborn kitten, but at least he wasn’t about to faint from hunger. Archie allowed his mind to drift until the pain began to ease and he sank into a deep sleep. There were benefits to having a cell all to himself. At least it was relatively quiet and no one could rat him out to the guards.
Archie slept until nightfall, then finished off the food Frances brought that morning and began his preparations. He’d been watching the guards for the past few weeks, timing their rounds and trying to estimate how many people there were and where they were situated. It was hard to do since he couldn’t see any of them through the tiny opening in the door; he could only hear. Frances wasn’t much help in gathering information. She couldn’t understand his interest in the gaolers or their habits since Archie hadn’t shared his plan with her for fear of disappointing her should it fail.
As far as Archie could tell, there were eight guards in total who worked in teams of four and alternated every other day. There seemed to be only two people on duty during the night. One guard did a final check of the prisoners around midnight, and then all was quiet until daybreak. The two guards probably slept through their shift, but it was hard to tell since the snores could have been coming from other cells. The doors to the cells were locked unless a visitor came to bring food.
The guards never opened the doors at night, not even if someone called for help. There had been a brawl a few nights ago in one of the cells, and the guards ignored the cries, allowing one of the inmates to be killed. They just left him there until all four guards were assembled and armed. Only then did they take the body out. Archie heard someone crying softly as the corpse was carried away. The man must have been someone’s brother or son.
After a month-long incarceration, Archie noticed that there was only one reason for the guards to open the door. They feared infectious disease, and if anyone died of something they suspected to be anything other than malnutrition, they got rid of their carcass pretty quickly and threw the body into a pauper’s grave behind the prison, denying the family the comfort of burying their dead.
Archie finished his preparations and waited patiently for midnight. He needed to conserve his strength, so he remained perfectly still, going over the details of his plan again and again. He normally saw the light of the lantern as the guard set off down the corridor just after midnight, and once he saw the light it’d be time to act. He had to get out of this hellhole and get to Franny before she starved herself to death or died of a broken heart. He’d promised to love and cherish her, and he would keep his promise until the day he died, which, if his plan failed, might be sooner than anticipated.
Archie finally saw a glimmer of light and slid down onto the floor, rattling his chains as he convulsed. He moaned pitifully and moved his head from side to side, as if he were delirious with fever. The effort of rattling the chains made him break out in sweat, which suited his purposes just fine. It took a minute or two for the guard to reach his door, and then the opening grew dark as the guard blocked the tiny window with his face. He peered inside, trying to ascertain what was wrong with the prisoner.
“You there, what’s wrong with you?” he growled.
“Chills,” Archie groaned as he made his teeth chatter. “Something under my arm.”
That did it. The fear of the plaque was enough to force the guard to open the door. He set the lantern on the floor and put a handkerchief over his face as he cautiously approached Archie. Archie hoped that he could see the sweat glistening on his brow in the glow of the lantern.
“Oh, God,” Archie moaned. “Get me a priest. Please.”
The guard was clearly annoyed that this calamity happened during his shift. Archie could almost hear him debating whether he should do something or just leave Archie and move on, but the fear of the plague kept him from leaving. The guard drew a little closer just as Archie stopped convulsing and grew absolutely still. He knelt down in an effort to hear if Archie was still breathing. Normally, the guard would just check for a pulse, but to touch someone afflicted with the plague was as good as infecting yourself. No matter, the guard was close enough. Archie allowed the sharpened s
poon to slide out from his sleeve and drove it into the man’s neck. Warm blood spurted over his fingers, but he didn’t care as long as the guard died quietly, which he did. He barely made a sound; just slumped over Archie like a sack of turnips. Archie pushed the man’s body off and reached for the ring of keys, trying each one in turn until he found the one for his fetters. He removed them as quietly as possible and slipped out of the cell, walking on silent feet toward the door of the prison where the second guard waited.
Archie was glad to see that the man wasn’t Lowry Gibbs. Gibbs desired Frances, that was plain to see, but he had been kind to her, and for that, Archie was grateful. He didn’t want to repay Gibbs by taking his life. The guard by the door was Norman Weeks, a man renowned for his brutality and meanness. Weeks was one of the guards who demanded more than money from visiting wives. The poor women had no choice but to submit if they wished to see their husbands and bring them food. He did give them an alternative though; they could either lift their skirts and bend over the table or get on their knees and pleasure him that way. He was happy with either option. He was a thickset man in his forties with a bushy black beard and guileless blue eyes that belied his ugly nature.
Weeks sat at a scarred wooden table, a jug of wine in front of him and a pair of dice in his hands. He threw the dice absentmindedly, waiting for his partner to return.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 21