“So, it’s not all generosity and charity on your part?” I asked sarcastically, still determined to be angry with him.
“No, not all. I have plans for little Jem, if you must know.”
“What kind of plans?” I asked aghast, suddenly worried about the welfare of the boy.
“Why must you assume the worst?” Hugo retorted irritably. “Do you think that I will put him in danger or work him to the bone? I plan to educate him in due time and make him my secretary once he gets older. Does that meet with your approval, madam?” he asked sarcastically. “That’s considerably more than he could have aspired to had he grown up as the bastard son of a washerwoman.”
“Yes, that’s very kind of you,” I conceded. “Was his mother a friend of yours?” There I went sticking my nose where it didn’t belong again, but I was very curious about this man and what motivated him.
Hugo gave me a sideways glance, no doubt angry himself since I had practically attacked him and questioned his motives. I suppose he had every right to be. He hadn’t asked for any of this. I was the one who waltzed into his life; called everything he was doing into question; prophesied doom, and then got angry when he did the only truly logical thing and decided to keep me on a short leash should I decide to shout my suspicions from the rooftops. The only person who deserved my ire was myself, and I felt overcome with helpless fury at my own stupidity and naiveté.
Hugo sighed and turned toward me, his face a mask of patient tolerance. He wanted things to be cordial between us, so he decided to be forthcoming, probably against his better judgment. “If you must know, his mother was a scullion when she was a girl. I fancied myself in love with her when I was about thirteen and found excuse after excuse to visit the kitchens, nearly getting her dismissed for encouraging my attentions. I declared my love and promised to marry her as soon as I reached maturity. She had the good grace not to laugh at me or tell my father. My father was a stern man and would have punished me for forgetting my station in life. Social standing was very important to him, so offering marriage to a lowly servant would be considered disgraceful. I would have gotten the beating of my life.”
“Did she share your feelings?” I asked, intrigued. What scullery maid wouldn’t be impressed with the future Lord Everly, especially when he was as attractive as Hugo?
“She was a few years older than I and already a woman. She allowed me to kiss her a few times though, which is something I’ll never forget. Those were some of the happiest moments of my young life.” Judging from Hugo’s smile, I assumed that was not all she allowed him, but I didn’t dare ask.
“So, what happened to her?”
“Margaret was a willful girl, not content to spend her life in servitude. She waited for an opportunity, and one came along some years later. One of my friends who came for a visit took a fancy to her and she followed him to London, convinced that he would make good on his promise and take care of her. He dallied with her for a while, but eventually tired of her and cut off his financial support, leaving Margaret to fend for herself. She tried to survive on her own in London, but was ill and destitute when I spotted her on the street one day, begging, or more accurately, looking for custom. I brought her back here and helped her get back on her feet.”
“I take it her newfound respectability didn’t last long?” I asked, guessing at what was coming.
“No, she took up with one of the grooms and got with child. As it turned out, Ned was already married. He didn’t get on with his wife, so left her at home and headed for London where I hired him a few years before. He took off as soon as he found out Margaret was carrying his child.”
“So, she had Jem?”
“Yes, she had Jem. She wasn’t a very good mother to him. He was a burden she wasn’t ready to deal, with and ruined her prospects of finding another man. She died of a fever not a year ago. If you ask me, it was a happy release for her, if not for her son who was heartbroken.”
“You still cared for her, didn’t you?” I asked, seeing a closed look come over Hugo’s face. He didn’t answer, but he’d revealed enough already and I was grateful for his confidence. He had showed me a glimpse of himself and I found it harder to be angry with him when he took it upon himself to care for a boy who had no one and nothing, out of regard for a woman who was kind to him when he was a boy himself.
“That’s a sad story. I’m sorry I was rude to you about Jem,” I offered. “He’s lucky to have you, and he seems very fond of you,” I admitted grudgingly.
“As I am of him.”
March 2013
Chapter 18
Max Everly stood still for a moment and gazed over the expanse of verdant countryside that belonged to the Everly estate. It never ceased to gladden his heart that he was the master of all he surveyed. The estate was always in need of funds, especially when it came to the house, but the land was what gave one power and true wealth. Hundreds of acres of farmland and woodland had remained in the family for centuries, making the Everlys one of the most prominent families in England.
Thankfully, after the mysterious disappearance of Hugo Everly, his nephew had inherited the estate, and with the help of his mother and the estate manager guided it into the eighteenth century. Clarence had been a shrewd businessman who kept his nose out of politics and concentrated on amassing the family’s wealth. It wasn’t until after the first world war that Ernest Hiddleston’s holdings had been sold off and the Everly wealth consolidated in Surrey, but Max was eternally grateful to his ancestor for handing him this legacy, one that would never have been his had Hugo not involved himself in the rebellion and got himself snuffed out somewhere.
Max absentmindedly patted his dog, his eyes still drinking in the beauty around him. He’d given himself time to play, but now it was high time he got down to business. He had to marry, produce an heir, and then turn his sights to politics, as several men in his family had done since the last century. The next time a seat came up in the House of Commons, he would put himself forward as a Conservative candidate. Being an MP would give him the political clout he craved and put the Everly family on the map once again. At first, he thought that Neve couldn’t be suitable, but seeing her juggle phone calls from various people while seeing to all the minute details of the deal made him change his mind. He didn’t want some brainless debutante who only cared about clothes and holidays on the French Riviera. He wanted a wife who would be an asset to his political career, and Neve had certain qualities which would make her indispensable. She could be a true partner, not just an accessory to be displayed on his arm. The fact that she was extremely pretty and personable didn’t hurt. She could manage his campaign and still inspire women voters, and maybe even sway some voters to his cause with her working-woman background. Voters liked candidates who understood their plight and marrying a woman who came from a working-class background could only be an asset.
Max smiled to himself, eager to discuss the plan with his mother. For once, she was bound to be proud of him. Naomi Everly was rarely affectionate or supportive, but she was fiercely proud of the family she’d married into and eager to see her son make something of his life, rather than just indulge his various recreational interests and chase pretty girls. She’d been applying pressure for years, desperate to see Max finally accept responsibility and devote his life to something that would leave a mark — and Max needed her support. Lady Everly would be an invaluable asset when it came to campaigning, using her social connections and influence to woo potential supporters and contributors to his campaign. Political ambition ran on a steady flow of financial fuel, preferably supplied by someone else’s generosity.
The phone trilled in his pocket, shaking him out of his pleasant reverie. It was an unfamiliar number, but he decided to take the call just in case it was important.
“Lord Everly? Lawrence Spellman here. Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if Neve Ashley might still be with you this morning. I’ve tried her mobile numerous times, but no joy. She was supposed to
join us for a meeting, you see, but she never turned up.” The man sounded nervous, prattling on like a girl, but Max took the time to reassure him. After all, he needed the lovely fee the film company would bring, so best to be as cordial as possible.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Spellman, but Neve left for London yesterday morning. I saw her off myself. Perhaps her battery has died. I’ve no doubt she’ll turn up soon. Yes, I’ll be sure to let you know if she gets in touch.” Max rang off and turned toward the village, eager for a pint. It’d be noon by the time he got there, so he might even have lunch at the pub. They did a nice shepherd’s pie on Mondays. The thought of food made Max’s mouth water. He was always hungry after his walk, having eaten only a piece of toast for breakfast. He wasn’t big on eating first thing in the morning like his mother, who’d had the same breakfast every day for the past forty years. Naomi Everly was a woman of habit and tradition, whereas her son enjoyed a bit of spontaneity and a desire for personal freedom; something she’d never understood.
“Come, Tilly,” Max called out to the dog, turning his steps toward the village. The dog bounded up behind him, sensing a good meal coming up. Tilly was always offered a nice selection of scraps while her owner spent an enjoyable hour or two at the pub, drumming up local support. Perhaps he should ask if anyone had seen Neve. Where could she be? He tried her mobile himself as he walked, but the call went straight to voicemail. He left a brief message and rang off. Perhaps she just overslept and would come rushing into the office, apologetic and disheveled. He liked it when her hair was in disarray, as it was when ruffled by the wind. It made Neve look more natural. He liked women who looked real, not the plasticky specimens he often met at parties and fundraisers. They looked as if their faces might crack if they smiled too enthusiastically. He wanted a woman to laugh, to ride, to get her hands dirty, and most of all to be an equal partner in bed. The thought of getting Neve into bed was a very appealing one, but he pushed it away, suddenly overcome by worry. Max doubled back, turned the corner and stopped in front of the shuttered barbershop; his eyes glued to the little blue hatchback parked out front. Yes, it was definitely Neve’s car.
Max approached the car and looked inside. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Was it possible that Neve spent the night in the village? But to what end? Had she met someone while she was in Cranleigh? Didn’t seem likely. She’d spent most of her time at the manor, and she specifically said that she was heading home to London, so why was her car here? Max walked up and down the street, peering into shop windows and asking a few passersby if they’d seen a woman of her description. Nearly an hour later he was back in front of the car with no more information than he had before.
Neve had expressed a particular interest in the church, but that hardly explained where she’d been for over twenty-four hours. Max decided to put off lunch for a while and walked to the church at a brisk pace, Tilly trailing behind him, her gentle brown eyes full of accusation at being denied lunch.
“Vicar, have you by any chance seen Neve Ashley?” Max asked as Vicar Lambert greeted him in the nave.
“You mean the lovely young woman from the film company? Why, no, I haven’t. I was busy finalizing my sermon in the vestry and then held the service. I must say that to my great surprise, the church was nearly full. You know how lax attendance has been lately, so I was most pleasantly surprised. Must be the fact that it’s Lent, wouldn’t you say? People always get slightly more pious around Easter, in my experience,” the vicar explained, but was silenced by Max’s look of patient annoyance. “Has she gone missing then?”
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, but it seems she didn’t turn up for work this morning. Said she was going home to London, so she’s probably just overslept.” Max didn’t want to tell the vicar about Neve’s car. He had reasons to keep it quiet, but he still needed information.
“Lord Everly,” a young woman called out to him. She’d overheard his conversation with the vicar and was now walking toward him down the nave. He didn’t know her, but she appeared to be a local. “I was here with my mother and sister yesterday. My sister is getting married at the weekend, so we came to finalize the flower arrangements, and I saw a woman fitting your friend’s description go down into the crypt,” the young woman said, eager to be helpful.
“Did you see her come back out?” Max asked, now even more confused.
“No, I didn’t. We were here for a quarter of an hour after that, but then the service began and I didn’t notice anyone coming or going. It was surprisingly crowded, as the vicar said.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your help,” Max told the woman as he turned toward the crypt. He didn’t expect to find Neve there a day later, but he still had to look. The crypt was empty, of course, the light illuminating the stone walls and casting shadows into the dusty corners swathed in cobwebs where the walls converged with the ceiling. Max looked around and scratched his head. No, it wasn’t possible. It was just a family anecdote, nothing more, he thought as he began to check behind every sarcophagus. It was ridiculous even to think along those lines, but he continued to search until he found the hold-all behind the knight’s tomb. Max opened the zipper with shaking hands and pushed aside Neve’s clothes to find her mobile and car keys at the bottom. He leaned heavily against the tomb, unsure of what to do.
The rational thing would be to call the police, but a missing person’s inquiry was about the last thing he needed at the moment. The shoot might be canceled, costing him the fee he’d already allocated to cover various expenses, and a scandal splashed across the papers, especially London ones, wouldn’t help his future political aspirations. People would forget what the story was all about, but they would remember his name and associate it with something lurid and criminal, despite the fact that he had nothing to do with whatever happened to Neve. Max took the bag and stealthily left the church, practically jogging home.
Chapter 19
Lady Everly poured herself a cup of tea and gingerly set down the china teapot before stirring in a lump of sugar and adding a splash of milk. She always took her tea this way, although in the past it had been served to her by a parlormaid. Lady Everly often spoke of the good old days when Everly Manor was fully staffed, the top floor buzzing with gossip and muffled footsteps as the servants retired for the evening. Those days were long gone, faded into history shortly after Naomi Harrison came to Everly as a young bride over sixty years ago, but his mother loved to harp on them, driving Max to distraction. He waited patiently until Lady Everly took the first sip before finally recalling her attention to what he’d been saying.
“Mother, are you even listening to me?” he asked, annoyed that his mother didn’t have more of a reaction to news of Neve’s possible disappearance. She appeared as calm and collected as always; her perfectly coiffed head bent just so as she considered him from across the room, the teacup delicately suspended in her right hand.
“Mother, please tell me this can’t be true,” Max pleaded. “Can it really be possible that Neve found the passage and traveled through time? Should I go after her?” he asked, knowing perfectly well that this particular question would finally elicit a response from his mother who’d remained silent until now.
“You will do no such thing,” his mother answered, her tone far more businesslike than emotional. “You are my son and the heir to this estate. You will NOT take any risks, you hear me?” she admonished as she set down her cup with more force than she intended.
“You didn’t answer my question. Is it true?” Max demanded, growing more exasperated by the minute.
“How should I know?” Lady Everly barked. “It would appear so. Where else could she have gone? Have you searched the countryside? Maybe she’s been attacked,” she suggested without much hope.
“So, she parked her car in the village, took off her clothes and left her phone and keys and ran naked from the crypt until she came across someone who attacked her? Or should I say, killed her? Because if she were alive, she’d have shown up s
omewhere by now. The woman at the church saw Neve going down to the crypt with her bag — unmolested,” Max reminded his mother.
Lady Everly gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “The passage must exist then, although I find that bit of nonsense hard to swallow.”
“What do you know about it?” Max demanded. He’d heard some story, years ago when he was a child, about an ancestor who disappeared and came back after suffering a breakdown, but he never paid much attention. It wasn’t exciting enough to hold the interest of a small boy. He’d been far more interested in space exploration and new technology than tales of Civil War and long-dead monarchs.
“I only know what I heard from your father, and I must admit that I wasn’t any more interested then than I am now. It all sounded like the ravings of someone’s overactive imagination, but your father had been fascinated with the story, having heard it over and over as a boy and having actually known the miscreant at the center of the tale,” Lady Everly replied, her haughty face a mask of contempt.
“So what exactly did you hear?” Max asked, his patience at an end. His mother was doing this on purpose; she’d always done that to him. She’d talk in circles while staring him down in order to avoid telling him a truth she found to be distasteful. Max had learned over the years not to ask his mother anything, and find answers for himself, but in this case, there was no one else to ask.
He suddenly remembered asking his mother about the woman he’d seen his father with at the hunting lodge. The woman had been young and pretty, and Max was mesmerized by her laugh, which sounded like the tinkling of bells, melodious and magical as it floated through the open window of the lodge. His father had laughed too, something Max didn’t hear very often at home. Lady Everly, however, berated Max for traipsing through the woods when he should have been studying and scolded him for looking through windows, a habit most unbecoming to a future lord. She hadn’t even acknowledged that there had been a woman at the lodge with his father, nor had mentioned it ever again.
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