Again — a strange word under the circumstances. I wouldn’t go back to Evan, not after the way he’d treated me, so who knew if there ever would be an again. Perhaps this had been my one chance, and nature decided to correct its mistake, thinking I wouldn’t make a fit parent to my baby. And again I was alone in my body; alone in the world.
For the first two weeks I had to keep reminding myself that I was no longer pregnant. There was no baby -– not anymore. At that point I went back to work, accepting the assignment for this film and throwing myself into research, jotting down various details about the time period and searching for suitable locations within a two-hour radius from London. I needed to be away from London, away from Evan, and away from my nagging friends who kept assuring me that everything would go back to normal. I just wanted to be alone. I pulled the blanket over my head and allowed the tears to fall. It didn’t matter where I was, I was still hurting.
Chapter 4
By 7 p.m., I finally dragged myself out of bed, took a hot shower and began to dress for dinner. I would have happily just gone to sleep, but it was rude to my hosts not to come down, so I applied a little makeup and pulled out a pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater. I’d worn my dress the night before, so unless they wanted me to wear the same thing every night, slacks and a sweater would have to do. I stared at myself in the mirror. My brown eyes looked haunted, and my normally abundant blonde hair looked lackluster even after shampooing. I twisted it into an artful bun and slipped on my shoes. They’d have to take me as they found me -– tired and depressed.
As I came down the stairs to the second floor, I ran into Max. He was wearing a pinstripe navy suit with a lavender silk tie and looked dashing in a quietly expensive sort of way. I was sure that Lady Everly would also be dressed as if she were dining with Her Majesty the Queen. The Everlys seemed to take dinner very seriously. Had I been dining at home with just my foster mother I’d have worn a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Max’s face lit up as he saw me.
“Neve, are you all right? I was hoping to see you after I came back from the village, but Mrs. Harding told me you were having a lie-down.”
I had no idea how Mrs. Harding knew that, but had no desire to talk about my strange experience of that morning. Truth be told, I was beginning to think I’d imagined the whole thing and was feeling somewhat embarrassed by my reaction.
“I had a headache,” I replied, hoping Max would leave it at that.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re feeling better.” I gave a nod of confirmation and he went on, “How did you like our crypt?”
“It was everything I hoped it would be. I sent several pictures to Lawrence Spellman, and he texted back his approval,” I supplied as Max led me through the gallery. Portraits of various sizes lined the walls; generations of Everlys watching us with that mixture of arrogance and boredom often found in portraits from another time period when people rarely smiled for fear of appearing frivolous. Most of the portraits were of men, the women not nearly as important to posterity as their male counterparts, despite being wives and mothers of the men depicted. Most Everlys seemed to have dark eyes, which followed me as I made my way down the endless corridor.
“I met the vicar. He told me something of the people buried in the crypt,” I supplied, suddenly aware of the lull in conversation. Max tore his eyes away from the portraits and turned to me with an apologetic smile.
“He’s a lovely old chap, isn’t he? I bet he offered you tea and biscuits. He keeps boxes and boxes of them in the vestry. Someone should remind him that gluttony is a sin.” I giggled in response, but my laugh sounded false to my ears. I felt strangely nervous, as if the faces in the portraits were live people who judged me and found me wanting.
Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks, staring up at the wall directly in front of me as my knees buckled. I grabbed onto Max to keep myself from falling, causing him to gaze at me in alarm as he deftly caught me and held me upright. A man of about thirty-five glared at me from the portrait, his eyes boring into mine and his lips stretched in a sardonic scowl. The artist had done such a fine job that the painting appeared more like a photograph, the man disturbingly real. “Who’s that?” I cried out in alarm.
“Don’t worry, he’s long dead, I assure you,” Max replied, clearly surprised by my reaction.
“Sorry, I don’t know why it startled me,” I mumbled as I let go of Max and backed away from the portrait. But I did know; it was the man I’d seen at the church that morning. He was wearing the same dark, curly wig and his ebony eyes seemed to be mocking me as I defiantly glared back at him. He was real. He’d lived, and died, according to Max.
“That would be Hugo Everly. He seemed to have all the appeal of a scorching case of venereal disease, if you ask me,” Max supplied with a chuckle. “Just look at that scowl. He was quite an interesting chap though.”
“In what way?” I asked, my stomach performing complicated acrobatics as I tried to get the words out.
“The most interesting thing about dear old Hugo is that no one really knows what happened to him. He was there one day, gone the next. He simply vanished, without leaving an heir, mind you. His nephew Clarence inherited the title, and I’m descended from him.”
“What might have happened to him?” I asked, suddenly sorry for the man I’d seen. He’d seemed so alive, so virile. What horrible fate had befallen him?
“I suppose it could have been anything. He might have contracted the plague in London and been tossed into a mass grave, or he might have been set upon by highwaymen, robbed and killed en route to somewhere. No one knows exactly when he disappeared, you see, but it was sometime in May of 1685. He was rumored to be a great supporter of the Duke of Monmouth, but he vanished before Monmouth even landed in England, so I doubt his disappearance had anything to do with the rebellion. All his correspondence was gone as well. He must have burned it, or someone else had for fear of what would be discovered. It took some time for Hugo to be declared legally dead, by which point his nephew had reached majority. Worked out rather well for my branch of the family,” Max informed me smugly.
“It certainly has. When was this portrait painted then?”
“A few years before Hugo vanished.”
“Was he married?” I kept staring at the portrait, trying to reconcile it with the man I’d seen earlier.
“Not as far as we know,” Max replied, clearly bored with the subject.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there was no record of a marriage, which is not to say that one never took place. He might have even had a child out there somewhere, or more than one, but none came forward, legitimate or otherwise.”
“Poor man,” I sighed, turning from the portrait.
“I have no doubt that whatever happened to him, he brought it on himself. He wasn’t a very lovable guy, by all accounts. Shall we go in to dinner? I’m starved actually, and we’re having roast beef, potatoes and Yorkshire puds.” Max smiled like a little boy who’d been promised an extra helping of cake. He had a way of making me feel lighter which I appreciated, especially on a day like today.
It wasn’t until halfway through the meal that I suddenly realized something that had been nagging at me since we left the gallery. It finally fell into place when Max scowled at something his mother said and threw her a dark look of warning, which went completely ignored by Lady Everly as she continued to regale me with stories of Max’s exploits at boarding school when he was a boy. Max greatly resembled the man in the portrait. Of course, he wasn’t wearing a wig, and his clothes were fashionable and modern, but the features were very similar, especially when he looked displeased, as he did at that very moment.
“Oh, he was such a little scoundrel,” Lady Everly recounted with a smile, her eyes clouded by her memories. “He was actually expelled for trying to plant a kiss on his French teacher. It was rather adorable actually. He was only eight at the time, but the headmaster took it all way too seriously, didn’t he, darli
ng?” she asked Max, who was staring down at his plate in obvious embarrassment.
“Of course, it wasn’t until he was seventeen that he finally succeeded, with the same teacher, I might add. He had quite the schoolboy crush on her. She was only about thirty at the time. A pretty little thing. What was her name, Max?”
I suddenly got the impression that Lady Everly was purposely trying to humiliate Max. Was it a punishment for inviting hoards of people into her home? Maybe she wasn’t as harmless as I thought, or maybe she was just a typical mother who got a kick from talking about her son’s childhood pranks. Max looked up at his mother with an expression so like that of Hugo Everly that I was nearly knocked off my chair by the resemblance between the two men. I was so astounded that I couldn’t help remarking on my discovery.
“Max, you look much like your ancestor when you frown like that,” I said in a teasing tone. “A curly wig and a sword at your hip and you could be brothers.”
“Ah, so you noticed,” Lady Everly chimed in. “I always did say that Max looks like Hugo. One of the theories that were put forth in my day was that Hugo’s nephew was actually his son, but my husband, who was descended from said nephew, rejected the idea since the boy was the son of Hugo’s sister. Of course, it was quite possible that Hugo’s sister Jane Hiddleston adopted the boy and reared him as her own since Hugo wasn’t married. Jane never had any other children; perhaps she was barren and Hugo’s bastard was a godsend. Or, the child could have been the product of incest between brother and sister. They were said to have been very close. Jane was devastated when Hugo went missing. There were several letters in which she confided to a friend that she was heartbroken and lonesome without her beloved brother. What do you think, Max?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and I got a brief glimpse of what she must have been like in her youth -– carefree and a little wild, a spoiled rich girl who always got her way.
“Who cares, Mother?” Max hissed. “They’ve all been dead for centuries, so whether we’re descended from one Everly or another, makes absolutely no difference to me.”
“No, you don’t care about that kind of thing, do you, darling? If you did, you’d have sired an heir by now, but you’re too busy chasing skirts in London. Don’t think I don’t hear what you get up to.” The atmosphere in the room noticeably changed as the subject of an heir came up. This was a sore subject between mother and son, and I thought it best to leave them to it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m rather tired,” I mumbled as I rose from the table.
“Oh, don’t leave on my account, dear,” Naomi Everly said, smiling pleasantly. “Max will do his duty sooner or later whether he likes it or not. And he will do it while I’m still living.” I could hear a note of steel in Lady Everly’s voice and suddenly felt a twinge of pity for Max. Centuries had passed, but nothing much changed for people like him. I heard Max’s voice rise in agitation as I left the dining room, giving them the privacy they needed to duke it out.
Chapter 5
My mobile rang seconds after I walked through the door of my bedroom, the sound shrill and alarming in the peaceful silence of the upper floor. I picked it up and glanced at the screen. Evan. Again. I hadn’t spoken to him since I informed him of the miscarriage, but I couldn’t avoid him forever, and now was as good a time as any, since I was already in a foul mood given my episode at the church that morning and the uncomfortable position Lady and Lord Everly had placed me in by involving me in their familial spats. I accepted the call and pressed the phone to my ear with some trepidation. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss Evan. We’d been together for a long time, and much of that time had been good. I suppose, looking back, that I loved him more than he ever loved me, but he had been affectionate and kind, if not always very giving, especially of his time. It wasn’t until I announced my pregnancy that I saw the manipulative, ruthless side that so shocked me, and belatedly realized that Evan would always put his interests above mine.
“Hello, Evan,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake by talking to him. Being a lawyer, he could usually talk circles around me, and I didn’t want to give him the chance to talk me around to coming back to him, if that was indeed what he wanted. Perhaps he wanted to ask me to return the diamond earrings he’d given me for my twenty-fifth birthday, or the first edition of A Tale of Two Cities, which was one of my favorites and with which he’d surprised me on our anniversary last year.
“Neve, thank God you finally picked up,” Evan exclaimed, sounding nervous and surprised. “Please, hear me out, darling.”
I didn’t say anything, so he went on, encouraged by my silence. I suppose he took it for consent.
“Look, I’ve been a villain of biblical proportions,” he began.
“Why, have you finally killed your brother?” I couldn’t help asking, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Evan despised his half-brother Noah as only one sibling could despise another. Whereas Evan was ambitious, educated, and driven, Noah was the happy-go-lucky brother who never had any money, lived on people’s couches, smoked tremendous amounts of marijuana, but somehow still managed to produce canvases of such originality and rare beauty as to make more money than Evan could ever dream of. We never did figure out what he did with the money, since he seemed to be wearing the same pair of jeans for the past year, but Noah was one of the icons of twenty-first century pop culture, always hounded by paparazzi and pursued by gorgeous women who seemed oblivious to his matted hair and paint-splattered shirts.
“Neve, be serious,” Evan said in his best “lawyer addressing the jury” voice. “Noah is alive and well as far as I know. Now, please, hear me out.”
“All right, go on then,” I conceded as I sank down on the bed. I needed to be seated for this conversation. I expected Evan to start talking, but he suddenly grew quiet, thinking something over.
“Where are you?” he suddenly asked.
“In Surrey, why?”
“I just think we need to talk in person, that’s all. This is not the right conversation to have over the phone. May I come and see you?” Evan asked.
“I’m working.”
“I know, but it won’t take long; I promise. I just want to talk to you face to face. I love you so much, Neve. Please, give me the address.”
I took a deep breath and held the phone away from my ear for a moment. Evan was trying to push my buttons, but I suddenly realized that his tactics weren’t working. My feelings for him had changed. The love I felt was gone, replaced by hurt and resentment. Those negative feelings would go away in time, but the love wouldn’t come back in their place. I had endowed Evan with all kinds of chivalrous qualities in my romantic imagination, but I saw him clearly now. He was a flawed, selfish man who wanted a safe and comfortable life which revolved around his needs. I was sure that he’d find a woman to give him that life, but it wouldn’t be me.
I held the phone back to my ear and spoke before Evan had a chance to interrupt me. “Evan, I’m at Everly Manor in Cranleigh. If you want, you can come tomorrow, but I must warn you that it will be a wasted trip.”
“Thank you, Neve. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I could hear a note of triumph in his voice, but I wouldn’t let him win. I would, however, give both of us a chance to get closure. I disconnected the call and tossed the phone on top of a dresser. I felt drained, emotionally and physically, so I changed into my pajamas and crawled into bed, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.
**
I spent a restless night, dreaming of Evan happily playing with a little boy, seventeenth-century cavaliers, modern-day lords, and meddling mothers. Sometime in the small hours I dreamed of a young woman, no older than sixteen, crying quietly as Hugo Everly stood over her glowering like a thunderstorm about to break. The girl sat on a low stool, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively as her huge, dark eyes silently appealed to Hugo for mercy.
“You can’t keep it, Jane,” Hugo said, not unkindly. “You will be confined to this house until the chil
d is born, and then the midwife will take it away. She will place it with a family in the village, and they will receive an annual stipend for the upkeep of the child. It will be well looked after, but you can have no contact whatsoever either with the family or with the child. Is that understood?” The young woman just cried harder, tears streaming down her cheeks and sliding into her open mouth as she rocked back and forth.
“Hugo, I beseech you, don’t take the baby away from me. Please,” she begged as he looked on her warily, his eyes softening just a fraction.
“Janey, you are not married, or even betrothed. How can you keep your child without causing scandal and shaming the family? It’s bad enough that you allowed that scoundrel to seduce you, but now you’re with child and it’s up to me as the head of the family to do everything in my power to preserve your honor. Perhaps you’ll miscarry. That would be best for everyone.” Hugo sounded sad, but firm in his resolve.
“I love him,” Jane muttered as she looked up at her brother. “I love him, Hugo. Maybe if he knows there’s a child, he’ll marry me.” She looked so hopeful that her brother cringed as he delivered the final blow.
“Janey, he knows,” he said softly. “I went to see him last night. He is promised to someone else, and he let me know, in no uncertain terms, that this situation will do nothing to alter his plans. He is not the saint you believe him to be.”
“Hugo, please,” Jane wailed. “I will do anything, anything at all, but please don’t take it away.”
“Anything?” Hugo asked, his eyes narrowing in a way that suggested that he might have an idea.
“Anything.” Jane smiled at him, and the innocence and trust in her young face was heartbreaking.
“So be it, sister, but there’s no turning back once you’ve agreed.”
“Agreed to what?” Jane asked, suddenly fearful.
“To whatever I propose. Give me a week.” With that, Hugo strode from the room, leaving Jane’s tear-stricken face aglow with hope.
The Passage Page 4