The Lovers (Echoes From The Past)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Wise decision.”

  Elise smiled at James. He’d taken Mercy’s mind off her fears and gave her something else to think about. Mercy had an inquisitive mind, so the story James had just planted there might keep her occupied for a while. Elise was sure that Mercy would take time to think about it and come back with a list of questions.

  “James, does Mercy know how to read?” Elise asked as they walked toward the beach. James carried a basket over his arm and Mercy skipped ahead, singing some ditty to herself.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Does Molly?”

  James shook his head. “Our father paid for our keep but never saw fit to educate us. The couple who looked after us were simple people, and illiterate like most. I learned to read and write once I was brought back to London. Once I mastered my letters, I helped myself to some books from the library. I never imagined that reading could bring such pleasure.”

  “What did you enjoy most?” Elise asked. She hadn’t read many books but had been taught how to read, write, and do simple sums. Her father often required her help with the books. She didn’t keep the accounts, but sometimes she took dictation and filled the numbers in the columns.

  “There were some books on astronomy, and a few historical accounts. But what I really liked were the plays. My father had several folios of Shakespeare, Marlowe, Ben Johnson, and Thomas Middleton. My father is quite fond of the theater, or he used to be.”

  “I’ve never been to the theater,” Elise said. “I’ve never been anywhere. Oh, how I would love to see a play or watch mummers perform. Have you ever been to the theater, James?”

  “Yes, many times.”

  “Will you take me once we are back in London?” Elise asked.

  “I would like to, but that’s not a promise I can make.”

  Elise understood only too well. Edward would not welcome James home, even once the child was born. She might not see him again once they returned to town, at least not until Edward required his services again.

  “I’m going to teach Mercy to read and write while she’s here,” Elise announced.

  James stopped and looked at her. “Will you? That’s very kind of you. It will serve Mercy well.”

  “I want to do something to help her, James. Whether her parents live or die, having certain abilities might give her more options as she gets older.”

  “There aren’t many options for girls,” James replied matter-of-factly. “Mercy will marry and look after her family at best or go into service and look after someone else’s family at worst. Neither requires reading or writing. But perhaps she will find some pleasure in reading a story or having the ability to teach her sons their letters. Being literate can certainly help a man.”

  Elise nodded. She didn’t wish to argue with James, but it rankled her the way men simply dismissed half the population. It wasn’t just her own lot in life to be a wife and mother—it was every woman’s. And if she had no family of her own, she spent her life doing menial work for pitiful wages. Even daughters of nobility had little say in their lives. They were paraded in front of eligible men, married off, and expected to produce as many children as they could before they either got too old or died in childbirth. There were no choices for them, and remaining unmarried was a fate worse than death. Unmarried women were treated like lepers—unless they were very wealthy, of course, in which case they were desirable prospects for fortune hunters.

  Elise marveled at the fact that after having a woman—a strong and cunning woman—on the throne for nearly half a century, women were still dismissed as nothing more than a means to an end. Someday that will change, Elise thought hotly. Someday women will be able to choose their own destiny.

  Chapter 60

  The days settled into a pleasant routine. The house was far enough from the town to afford privacy, and there were no servants, save Mistress Benford, Peg, and Pete the stable boy, who had little to do since Edward had taken the carriage and horses. Mercy took to her lessons like fish to water, but what surprised Elise was how much time she spent in the kitchen. Mercy liked to cook, and she was eager to learn how to make new dishes.

  “Me mam never ’ad much use for cooking,” Mercy told Elise after one of their lessons. “She were always too busy taking care of us and the ’ouse to do much more than make a stew or a pot of pottage. Oh, we always ’ad enough to eat, mind ye, but there wasn’t much in the way of variety.”

  “And what would you like to cook?” Elise asked, amused.

  “I’d like to make pies and pastries, and roast a swan. Me da told me once that at court, they roast whole swans and then replace the feathers and insert rubies instead of eyes before presenting the birds to the king and ’is courtiers.”

  Mercy looked enthralled with the idea, her eyes sparkling with the wonder of it. “And they make other grand dishes too, using spun sugar and marzipan. ’Ave you ever seen such things?”

  “Lord Asher had some fantastical dishes at our wedding feast. He’d hired one of the palace cooks to see to the preparations. There was a concoction of sugared fruit and nuts decorated to look like a blooming rose bush with a butterfly on each bloom. It was too lovely to eat.”

  “I wish I could ’ave seen that,” Mercy said sadly. “I always dream of getting out of Blackfriars and living at the palace. If God sees fit to take me family, it’s because I’d wished to leave them,” Mercy whispered, her eyes huge with regret.

  “Mercy, your desire to better your lot has nothing to do with what’s happening in the city. It’s no more your fault than yesterday’s rain or tomorrow’s drought. One little girl’s dream cannot bring about the death of her family, and I won’t stand for you blaming yourself. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming.”

  Mercy nodded, somewhat appeased. “Thank you, me lady. Ye are very kind. I can see why Uncle James is so taken with ye. Me mam always said to put me silly notions out of me foolish head.”

  She would, Elise thought. She’d only met Molly once, but she got the impression that the woman didn’t hold with sentiment or wild-goose chases. Molly seemed pragmatic to a fault, possibly a trait she’d inherited from her estranged father. Elise was sure that Molly loved her children fiercely, but she wanted them to find satisfaction in the here and now, not in indulging in daydreams of things that could never be. Well, perhaps Elise could do something for Mercy, something that would help her at least try to reach for her dreams.

  Chapter 61

  The next few months were the happiest Elise had ever known. For the first time in her life, she was her own mistress, having no father or husband to lord over her from day to day. She was free to do as she pleased, and although she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, it felt wonderful to do it without the watchful stare of a domineering male. Mercy was thriving, and so was the baby. Elise no longer fit into any of her gowns, so Peg sewed several new skirts to accommodate her expanding middle and laced her bodices loosely to allow extra room for her swollen breasts.

  Elise completely ignored the advice of the doctor and went for long walks in the fragrant summer wood, enjoying the soothing tranquility of the country. James rarely came to the house for fear of betraying their relationship to the servants, but he joined her for daily walks, which inevitably led to a stolen hour at the gamekeeper’s cottage. James’s presence was like a balm to her soul. He gave her the love and affection she craved so desperately, but he made no move to control or patronize her. He simply loved her, which was such a novel feeling that Elise had to stop and remind herself that such a thing was really possible.

  They spoke no more of the future, but Elise still harbored a hope that they might build a life together. Things had a way of changing when you least expected them to, and although she held no ill will toward Edward, she hoped that her marital status might change at some point in the future.

  James often spoke of Molly, and Elise could feel the razor-sharp ache in his heart, the not knowing whether Molly and Peter were still alive worse than t
he actual news that they might have succumbed to the illness. Mercy resolutely did not ask about her parents, enjoying her time in the country as much as any child who’d never been farther than the next street would. Her reading and writing were coming along at a good pace, and she’d even taken it upon herself to share her newfound knowledge with Peg. Elise saw her sitting with Peg in the kitchen, teaching her the alphabet and writing out simple words that started with each consecutive letter, just as Elise had done to teach Mercy. Peg was not the most eager of students, believing that knowing her letters would do nothing to better her life, but Mercy was convincing, and Peg didn’t mind staying off her feet for an hour.

  There were days when Elise wished that they could just go on this way forever, but the summer was waning. Eventually, they would have to return to London, but not before the epidemic had abated. They had virtually no news other than what James heard at the tavern. Much of what was said was speculation, but even speculation was based on some measure of truth gleaned from travelers and through gossip. The king and his court were still in Salisbury, which meant that it wasn’t yet safe to return. Elise and James remained in Suffolk, enjoying their idyll.

  “What news of the city?” Elise asked as she lay in James’s arms on a particularly lovely afternoon. The sun rode high in the sky, and it was so warm that James stripped off his clothes and went for a swim. He emerged a quarter of an hour later, covered with gooseflesh, but much refreshed. The North Sea often looked turbulent and gray, its waters icy even at the height of summer, but on this day, the sea was as smooth and shiny as a pane of glass, the blue expanse of sky reflecting in the tranquil water, sky and sea mirroring each other until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The sun sparkled playfully on the surface, and the seagulls circled overhead, waiting for the right moment to dive for an unsuspecting fish.

  Elise and James never saw anyone else on the beach. An occasional fishing boat sailed past, and once or twice they spotted a larger vessel, possibly bound for the shores of Scotland, but no townspeople came this far. There were still many who believed that bathing was hazardous to one’s health, and it was only a brave few who dared to swim in the sea. Mothers scared their children with tales of sea monsters to prevent them from setting foot into the churning waves, fearful of their offspring being carried off by the current and drowned, their bodies never to be recovered.

  James pulled Elise closer, enjoying the firm shape of her rounded belly against his side. The babe had been still before, no doubt lulled to sleep by the walk to the beach, but now it seemed to have awoken and was kicking vigorously, as if trying to get out before its time. James yelped with surprise as a particularly vicious kick startled him out of his reverie and brought him back to Elise’s question.

  “The situation in London is growing worse, according to some travelers who’ve passed through the town recently. No one is coming in or out, and merchants are leaving food outside the city. Payment is tossed to them from the walls. Some say that there are not enough death carts, and the corpses are piled on the streets and rotting where they lie. The streets are deserted, and diggers are working round the clock to provide enough pits for mass burial. Many deaths have been reported in villages around London, so the contagion is still spreading.”

  “But how?” Elise demanded. “If no one is going in or out of the city, how is this pestilence spreading?”

  James shrugged. “All it takes is one infected person to pass through a village and come into contact with its inhabitants. A stop at a tavern, an exchange of coin, a handshake, and the illness takes hold. There’s some talk of the king and his court leaving Salisbury. There’ve been a few cases reported there.”

  “Where are they decamping to?” Elise asked, fearful that Edward would return.

  “Oxfordshire, I believe, but I don’t know for certain. There’s no possibility of returning to the city before the cold weather sets in. I won’t let you go back, Elise,” James warned, thinking she wished to return.

  “I have no plans to go back, James. I will remain here until the child is born and then bide my time until the sickness abates. There’s nothing waiting for me in London. Nothing at all.”

  Elise felt a stab of guilt as she uttered the careless words. There was nothing in London for her, but James was desperate for news of Molly and her family. There was no way to find out who lived and who’d died. Even those who kept records would most likely be dead by now, and all anyone knew were rough numbers of casualties which were nowhere near the real death toll.

  “Have you heard anything about Master Pepys?” Elise asked. “Is he still in London, do you think?”

  Edward often mentioned Samuel Pepys. He seemed to admire and despise him in equal measures. Edward never really explained his animosity toward the man, but Elise detected a note of jealousy in her husband. Samuel Pepys was loved and admired by His Majesty, and Edward carried on like a jealous mistress, fearful that he would be replaced in the king’s affections.

  “He was still in the city at some point during the summer, but most likely he’s left by now, or he should have if he values his life and that of his wife.”

  “I would think that he’d leave once the king and his court departed,” Elise mused.

  “Not necessarily. Master Pepys is devoted to providing a chronicle of the times, and he can hardly do that from leagues away.”

  “I’d best get back before I’m missed,” Elise said as she laboriously got to her feet and brushed sand off her skirt before slipping her feet into her shoes.

  “Peg knows where you are. That girl knows everything. She’s not as oblivious as you believe her to be,” James said as he pulled on his boots and reached for his doublet.

  “Peg is grateful to be here. Whatever she knows, she’ll keep to herself,” Elise replied.

  “Don’t be so sure, Elise. Everyone has a price, and a servant’s price is laughably low. That girl has nothing to her name, save the clothes on her back. She’ll spill all for a few shillings.”

  “You’ve a very suspicious mind, Master Coleman,” Elise teased, amused by James’s sudden gravity.

  “Aye, I do, and it would serve you well to heed my advice.”

  “I do heed your advice, but the only way to remain safe is never to see you, and I refuse to do that. So let’s not talk about it anymore. I must go back.”

  “I’ll walk you,” James said as he sprang to his feet and tied his damp hair into a loose ponytail.

  “There’s no need.”

  “There’s every need. You’re seven months gone with child. You shouldn’t be wandering about on your own.”

  Elise smiled broadly, making James frown with disapproval. “I like it when you fuss,” she said. “No one ever cared about my welfare this way except for my dear mother.”

  James just pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Of course I worry about your welfare. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  “You will never lose me.”

  James nodded but didn’t reply. Elise knew what he was thinking. She was something of a dreamer, but James was a realist to the core. He knew all too well that there were countless ways to lose someone, and that one had no control over when or where their loved one might stumble and fall. Elise supposed that James was worried about the birth, but she gave it virtually no thought. What was the point of fearing something she couldn’t control? She would face her fate when the time came and pray that God was merciful enough to spare her and her baby.

  Chapter 62

  December 2013

  London, England

  Quinn set a cup of tea by the bed and bent down to plant a kiss on Gabe’s cheek. “Wake up, you’ll be late for work.”

  Gabe pulled a pillow over his head and growled. “Why must it be Monday already?”

  “Because that’s what generally happens between Sunday and Tuesday, but it’s a short week, what with Christmas and all. If you get up now, you’ll have time for breakfast.”

  �
�All right,” Gabe grumbled as he sat up, took a gulp of tea, and reached for his dressing gown. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Fried egg and toast. I’ll even throw in some mushrooms if you behave.”

  “There’s nothing in the fridge,” Gabe replied, looking confused.

  “I popped out to the shops while you were sleeping. I don’t fancy going hungry,” Quinn replied, arching her brow and making Gabe chuckle. Gabe hardly ever ate breakfast, but Quinn couldn’t start her day properly without having something to eat, even if it was just toast and tea.

  “Mm, I like having you around,” Gabe mused as he gave her a sound kiss. “It’s just like staying with my mum.”

  Quinn swatted him, but he jumped out of the way and disappeared into the bathroom. She had to admit that she liked spending the night at his flat and enjoying everything that London had to offer. They’d gone out to dinner and seen a foreign film last night instead of staying in, as they would have had they stayed at her place. There wasn’t much of a nightlife in her Surrey village. Quinn smiled as she took out the eggs, mushrooms, butter, and bread. She’d been so lonely the past few months that doing something as mundane as making breakfast for Gabe made her giddy with joy. It was no fun cooking for one.

  Gabe came out of the bathroom smelling of soap and aftershave and joined her at the table. His hair was still damp from the shower, and his dark-blue dressing gown matched his eyes. Coincidence? Quinn thought not. Probably a gift from a woman, hopefully his mum. Gabe buttered a piece of toast and tucked into his eggs.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” he asked as he speared a mushroom and popped it into his mouth.

  “I have a meeting with Rhys, actually. Gabe, what do I do?” Quinn asked, her tone plaintive. “How do I continue to work with him knowing what I know?”

  “And what exactly do you know?” Gabe asked, eyebrow raised. “You know that thirty years ago, Sylvia Wyatt got pregnant and gave birth to you. Several days later, she left you in a church pew. Those are the only indisputable facts. Anything else is conjecture. Confronting Rhys with this—three decades after the fact—can result in nothing but ruffled feathers and harsh words. How do you think he’ll feel if you accuse him of rape?”