And, of course, she longed to visit Gabriel’s grave. She could barely recall his face now, the baby who’d died only a day after being born. Frances closed her eyes momentarily, trying to summon the image of her son’s face, but all she could recall was a tiny, pink blob, its features lost to the ravages of time. He would have been three and a half now, a few months older than Valentine. Frances sighed. There was a hole in her heart where the Everlys used to be. She knew it would shrink in time, but at the moment, it was a dark, gaping chasm.
Frances barely noticed that Archie had stopped walking, his face suddenly alert as he held up his hand for her to stop. His eyes were fixed on something just above the wall.
“Archie, what is it?” Frances whispered, even though there was no one to hear her.
Archie didn’t respond, but looked around until he found a tree stump. “Sit and rest for a moment while I take a look.”
“What’s wrong?” Frances tried again.
“It’s too quiet,” he finally replied.
Frances glanced at the forbidding wall and finally understood what put Archie on his guard. It was around eleven, normally a busy time at the convent. The sisters would be at their morning tasks before stopping for midday prayer. There would be sounds of activity, smoke from the kitchen chimney curling into the sky, the smell of food wafting over the high wall as the sisters on kitchen duty prepared dinner and baked fresh loaves of bread. Instead, there was near silence. All Frances heard was the sound of crows circling over the convent and the weak lowing of a cow coming from the barn just beyond the wall. Something was very wrong.
“Archie, what’s that smell?” Frances whispered, suddenly aware of an undertone of putrefaction beneath the smell of flowers, pine, and sun-warmed earth.
“It’s the smell of death.”
Chapter 47
Frances spread her cloak on the grass and sat down with her back to a stout oak, glad to have a backrest. Her back ached something awful, her belly growled with hunger, and her feet were on fire, but physical discomfort was nothing compared to the terrible sense of foreboding she felt as she watched Archie walk toward the convent. Archie put his ear to the door for a moment, listening intently before raising his fist to knock. Sister Angela’s hut was closest to the door, so she’d be the first to hear the knocking. She usually worked in the stillroom in the mornings: grinding, boiling, stewing, and mixing potions for the various ailments of the nuns.
Archie knocked again, but he clearly didn’t expect an answer. Instead, he began walking around the perimeter of the wall, looking for a crack to peer through. There were none. The logs had been tarred in between, leaving no gaps. Archie finally found what he was looking for; a tall oak whose branches extended over the wall. He deftly climbed the tree and inched his way along a thick branch until he was over the wall. Frances heard the thud of his boots hitting the packed earth when he landed on the other side. A moment later, he unlocked the door and peered out.
“Franny, stay there and do not come inside. Understand?”
Frances nodded, her heart pounding with apprehension. She remained where she was, listening intently, but all she heard was ominous silence and the ever-present crows cawing like mad and circling above the compound. Her eyes closed of their own accord as fatigue finally overtook her. She was so tired.
**
“Franny, wake up,” Archie urged gently. “Sweetheart, open your eyes.”
Frances forced herself to open her eyes, but her thoughts were muddled, her mind still caught between wakefulness and dreams. She finally shook off her lethargy and looked at Archie. His face was pale, his mouth pressed into a thin line framed by the coppery stubble of a two-day beard.
“What is it?” Frances asked, alarmed anew.
“We must leave this place, Franny. Now.”
“But I’m tired and hungry,” Frances pleaded. “What’s happened?”
Archie sat heavily on the ground next to her and stared at the walls of the convent. “I don’t know what happened,” Archie replied warily. Frances waited for an explanation, but Archie remained mute, just staring into space for a moment before rising and pulling her to her feet. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“Away from here.”
Frances rose laboriously to her feet as Archie picked up the cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She was full of questions, but the closed look in his eyes warned her not to ask them now. Whatever he’d seen inside those walls made a deep impact, and he needed to get away from this place before he could talk about it. They walked on in silence for about an hour before Archie allowed them a break. He found a sheltered spot beside a fast-flowing creek, made a small fire, and took out the last of the bread and cheese they’d bought from a passing farmer the day before. The bread was stale and the cheese a bit moldy, but Frances fell on the food, her body desperate for sustenance. Archie just stared into the flames, his meal forgotten.
“They’re all dead, Franny. Julia, too,” he finally said. “I found her in her cell.”
Frances reached for Archie’s hand and squeezed it. What was there to say? His sister had lost her five children and her husband in the space of a week, the children to sickness and the husband to suicide. He simply couldn’t cope with the loss, and hanged himself in the barn, leaving Julia to grieve for them all. Julia spent nearly a year alone in her house, barely eating or sleeping, just staring into space, her grief impenetrable. She would have died too had it not been for her parents and neighbors who came by, brought food and drink, and wouldn’t leave until they were sure she’d eaten at least some of it.
Julia had finally found some semblance of peace after leaving her parents and brother and joining the secret convent in the woods. Since the dissolution of the monasteries during the reign of Henry VIII, there were few religious communities for women in England, and most existing convents were located in either Ireland or France, and only for those of the Catholic faith. The sisters feared interference from the outside world, but were still under the jurisdiction of a bishop. Reverend Engel, who presided over the local parish, came to visit the convent once a month to bring some necessary supplies and see to the physical and spiritual well-being of the sisters.
There had been sixteen nuns and Mother Superior at the time of Frances’s stay. Most of the women were twenty-five or older, and had come to the convent for reasons of their own. Some sought a place where they could serve God unobstructed, and others simply fled from a life which was no longer bearable. Sister Angela had been a midwife once, but she’d come to the convent with Julia, eager to escape the suffering of the outside world. She’d used her skills as a healer to look after the nuns and had cared for Frances during her pregnancy. Sister Angela had delivered Gabriel, and helped lay him to rest. And now she was gone.
Frances felt a terrible sadness wash over her at the thought of those women. Most of them had been kind to her in her hour of need, and some had grown to care for her. Sister Angela took Frances under her wing and nurtured her as she would a wounded bird until the bird was well enough to fly again. Frances had noticed the twinkle in her eye when Archie came to collect her all those years ago. The older woman had spotted something that took them much longer to see. How happy she would have been to see Frances married and with child once again. Frances had hoped that Sister Angela would examine her and confirm that the pregnancy was progressing well. Frances experienced sharp pains from time to time, there’d been some bloodstains on the sheets a few weeks ago, but she hadn’t lost the baby, of that she was sure. Perhaps once they settled somewhere, Frances would seek out a midwife.
“Tell me what you saw in there, Archie,” Frances invited, although she didn’t wish to hear the tragic details. She wanted to remember Sisters Angela and Julia as she had known them, kind and serene, but Archie needed to talk about what he’d seen to unburden himself, so she would listen.
“There must have been some pestilence, Franny. I saw a number of fresh graves. The sisters weren�
��t all taken ill at once. Some died first, and were buried, but others died later, alone in their cells. It can’t have been too long ago, since the beasts were still alive, if weakened from lack of sustenance. I set them free. I couldn’t just leave them to starve.”
“Was there no food left at the convent?” Frances asked, wondering what they would eat now that their meager rations had run out.
“There was. There was flour for baking, cheese, and oats, but I was afraid that the supplies might be contaminated by the sickness that carried the sisters off. And the animals might have been infected as well. I thought it best not to risk it. You know how Lady Everly always went on about infection and germs. I had no way of knowing what the nuns had touched or breathed on.”
“And the sisters?” Frances asked, meaning Julia in particular. Had Archie really left his sister’s body to rot?
Archie shook his head in despair. “I was afraid to handle their bodies, Franny, in case the contagion was still live. And there were too many to bury. I thought of setting the place on fire, but it isn’t safe to start a fire in a forest. So, I left them there, and may God forgive me.” Archie buried his face in his hands. He was overcome with guilt, especially about Julia. “What will I tell my father?”
“Archie, you’ve done the right thing. You might have contracted whatever illness they had and passed it on to us,” Frances said quietly as she reached for his hand.
“Us?”
“I’m with child, Archie. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but that’s the only thing that matters — us and the baby. We must survive. We must find a safe place before this baby is ready to be born.”
“Oh Franny, what wonderful news!” Archie breathed as he held her closer and splayed his hand over her still-flat belly.
“So, you’re pleased then?”
“Of course, I’m pleased. I wish I could have told Julia. She would have been happy for us, as would Da, but we can’t go back to Cranley. Not now.”
“Archie, where will we go?” Frances asked carefully.
“To London, I think. We’re too conspicuous out here in the country. A populated place like London is the perfect cover. We’ll find a room and bide our time for a while. Eventually, the authorities will stop hunting me, and I will be able to find some sort of employment. I think we’ll be safe there, but it’s getting to London that’s the hard part. We must not be seen, and get through the gates unnoticed. It will take several days, Franny. Are you up to it?”
She wasn’t, but what choice was there? They were too exposed in the countryside, and any village they walked into would be instantly aware of strangers in their midst. With his red hair, Archie stood out in a crowd, and would get arrested sooner rather than later, especially if there was a reward, which there was bound to be. He’d been accused of killing Liza Timmins, and now he had the deaths of two guards to answer for. The reward would be substantial enough to break the bonds of loyalty and decency. Every red-headed young man within fifty miles would be a suspect unless the parish clergyman and neighbors could vouch for him.
The journey to London would take days, possibly even a week at the rate they were going. They’d need rest and food before they set off again. Perhaps they could find some remote farm where Frances could buy some food. Alone, she wouldn’t arouse as much suspicion.
Chapter 48
The nighttime sky was strewn with stars, the branches overhead a living dome with a skylight into the heavens. The air was balmy and sweet-smelling, the cold ashes of the fire no longer smoking or giving off the acrid smell of burned wood and grease from the rabbit which had been the first hot meal they’d had in days. Frances slept quietly next to Archie, her cheek pressed to his side. They’d walked for hours after leaving the convent, but since learning Franny’s news, Archie made the decision to stop for the night and let her sleep. Frances needed rest and decent food, not endless hours of walking or stale bread and moldy cheese washed down by warm ale. And she needed his love and support. They hadn’t had a proper reunion since Archie escaped from prison, and it was time to slow down and remind her that despite everything, she was still his number one priority, as was their child.
They’d bathed in a shallow creek before settling in for the night. It was such a pleasure to feel clean again. Frances didn’t bother to dress after her bath, just stretched out on her cloak smiling shyly at Archie. Her body glowed like marble in the gathering darkness that had settled on the forest, and her golden curls were spread about her head making her look like the Medusa Archie had seen in one of Hugo’s Greek mythology books. Archie lay down next to Frances and gave her a tender kiss. His hand went to her belly. Her waist was still tiny, but there was a barely noticeable swell just beneath his palm where their baby slept.
Franny’s breasts were heavier, her pale flesh marbled with blue veins where the blood flowed just beneath the surface. Archie traced them with his finger, marveling at how much her body had changed in only a month. He bent his head and kissed the top of her breast, enjoying the cool feel of her skin beneath his warm lips. Frances lay still, but Archie could sense her arousal. He wanted her badly, but wasn’t sure that he was allowed to make love to her in her condition. Frances opened her eyes and gazed up at him.
“It’s all right, Archie,” she whispered, sensing his hesitation. “You won’t hurt the baby.”
“Are you certain?”
Frances nodded and pulled him down on top of her. He’d meant to wait, to take things slow, but forgot his resolve when Frances wrapped her legs around his waist in invitation. Blood pounded in his temples as he slid carefully inside her, savoring Frances’s sigh of pleasure. Their lovemaking was slow and tender, not the frenzied coupling of two people who’d been apart for a month, but a marriage of body and soul, a poignant reunion of two halves. It was achingly intense, and brought them both an emotional and physical release that shattered the tension and fear of the past few weeks. And for just a few moments, Archie felt whole. He held Frances in his arms until she finally fell asleep, studying the pale moon of her beloved face. She still looked exhausted, but the lines of tension about her mouth and between her brows had smoothed, her mouth slightly open in slumber and not pursed as it had been that afternoon. Her lashes fanned out against her cheeks, her eyes still beneath closed lids. She was sleeping peacefully, which was all Archie could ask for.
Archie wished he could sleep as well, they were safe enough in this part of the wood, but his conscience plagued him, keeping him awake despite the physical fatigue. Archie tore a few blades of grass and crushed them between his fingers, bringing the pulp to his nose. The grass smelled earthy and fresh, but he couldn’t get the stench of death out of his nostrils. It haunted him, as did the truth of what he found inside the convent walls. He’d kept it from Frances for fear of what she might do. She had believed his tale and willingly followed him away from the convent, but Archie couldn’t unsee what he’d seen, or assuage the guilt that gnawed at his insides.
He’d stopped believing in God long ago, probably the week that Julia lost her children to the putrid throat. Her husband hanged himself in their barn directly after the funeral, leaving Julia to mourn her loss on her own. Archie had been only twenty then, but he couldn’t accept that a loving God would cause a good woman such suffering. Children and husbands died all the time, but usually not within days of each other. He found himself unable to accept Julia’s decision to retreat from the world, but had taken her and Angela to the convent at their request, and left them to forge a new life for themselves. Sister Angela had been a friend of his mother’s and had delivered both him and Julia, as well as the twins who came two years after Archie and had been stillborn. She’d been a part of their lives for as long as he could recall, and he had repaid her friendship and kindness by letting her die.
Archie had known what to expect as soon as his feet landed on the ground within the compound. He’d know that smell anywhere; he’d smelled it before. He’d tied a kerchief over his nose and mouth and pulled o
ut his gloves. Neve always said that contagion traveled through air and touch. Archie wasn’t sure where she’d gleaned this knowledge, but it made good sense. He stood still for a long moment, listening for sounds of people, but all he heard were the feeble cries of animals left to starve and unable to get out of the barn without someone unlocking the doors. He walked toward the chapel, hoping that some of the sisters might be at prayer, but the chapel was deserted, as was the hall where the nuns took their meals. The ashes in the hearth were cold and bitter-smelling. No one had made a fire in several days.
Six fresh graves dotted the small cemetery, the shovels left haphazardly next to the mounds. Archie suspected that the graves weren’t very deep, since it would take great strength to dig six graves. These graves wouldn’t be disturbed since the wall kept out forest creatures, but a heavy rainfall might wash away the top layer of dirt, leaving the shrouded corpses partially exposed. Clumsily-made wooden crosses were stuck into the dirt at the head of each grave, but no names were carved into the crossbar, as if the identity of the occupants didn’t really matter.
Archie finally turned his steps toward the building which served as a dormitory. The smell there was much stronger, penetrating even the coarse, densely-woven fabric of his kerchief. It was overwhelming and made his eyes burn. Archie pushed open one door after another. The first two cells were empty, but the evidence of the illness was there. Brown and red stains covered the bed linens and the floor, bloody feces overflowing the reeking chamber pots. The third cell contained a nun who lay face-down on her cot, the back of her black cassock crusted with waste. She was beyond help, so Archie moved on. He found two more women in much the same condition. One was in her night-rail, the other still in her habit. It had been the bloody flux and it must have carried them off quickly.
Comes The Dawn (The Wonderland Series: Book 5) Page 25