“I just can’t seem to get enough. Perhaps you can bring me another cup to the stables. I’ve been out all night on an errand for his lordship and fancy a kip.”
“If needs must,” Fanny replied, her answer shining from her eyes as she watched Archie saunter from the room. I smiled into my cup, amazed by the ease with which the transaction just took place. It was interesting to see that people hooked up in pubs since time immemorial.
I was distracted from the mating rituals of seventeenth-century England by the appearance of Jem, closely followed by Hugo.
“No running,” Hugo called out as Jem catapulted into the kitchen, eager for the promised treat.
“Wash your hands,” I called out after him, “and you, too,” I said to Hugo, who looked surprised, but promptly went back out into the yard to wash his hands. “Hospitals are full of contagion,” I explained once Hugo came back.
“I suppose they are.” Hugo looked a trifle bemused, but didn’t question me any further.
“How’s Jem?” I asked.
“On the mend. He must avoid exertion and sudden movements. They gave me a tonic to be given at bedtime.” Hugo held up a vial containing a murky liquid that looked highly questionable.
“What’s in it?”
“Some herbs mixed with laudanum, I expect. The medick said it would tranquilize the mind and restore the natural balance of Jem’s humors.” In other words, the tonic would induce sleep which would allow Jem’s brain time to heal if there were any lasting effects of the concussion. I supposed that wasn’t bad medical advice for the time. I just hoped Hugo wouldn’t give the child too much.
“Does this mean we are ready to return to Everly Manor?”
“Yes, but our progress will be slow since Jem must avoid any jarring movements, such as trotting or galloping, but we must be back in time for Easter.”
Hugo got to his feet, planted a sweet kiss on the top of my head and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“To the stables to speak to Archie. I have a question or two that need answering,” he replied.
“You might want to wait a half hour,” I advised him with an innocent smile. “I think Archie might be occupied at the present.” Hugo’s lips spread into a knowing smile.
“You’d think a sleepless night would deter him, but I suppose you can’t keep a good man down,” he said, chuckling as he went out.
Chapter 36
The journey back to Everly Manor took several days, days during which I was surprisingly happy. The possibility of pursuit seemed less likely, and the tender new romance between Hugo and I left me feeling hopeful and giddy. Perhaps we did have some say in our future, and now that I was here with Hugo he might not vanish at all, but remain at Everly Manor and grow old with me. I felt a twinge of pity for Max, since this turn of events might interfere with his future, but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t suppose I could change any major historical events, but maybe I could change the history of one man and his family.
I smiled as I caught Hugo looking at me. It gave my heart a lift to see him happy. I hadn’t realized how gruff and controlled he’d been until I saw this new, unexpected side of him; a side that made me want to jump off my horse right there and then and drag him into the woods for a half-hour of much-needed privacy. I felt as if my whole body was aflame, every nerve ending zapping with electricity and turning me into a conduit of the current that passed between us.
Hugo hadn’t said anything to the men, but of course he didn’t need to. They saw the change right away, and didn’t miss an opportunity to make seemingly innocent comments loaded with double entendre. I thought Hugo might get angry, but he seemed amused, enjoying the camaraderie of our little party. Jem was back on his mule, his little face relaxed, and at times perplexed, as he sensed that something beyond his understanding had shifted among the adults.
The next hurdle would be Jane. Her son was Hugo’s heir, so she might not look kindly upon a woman who might change that, but then again, I saw genuine love between Hugo and Jane, so she might actually be pleased to see that her brother was happy.
The shadow of the coming rebellion hovered just over my shoulder, but I tried not to dwell on it despite the fact that the wheels had already been set in motion. Only yesterday, April 17, a meeting had taken place in Amsterdam in which the Earl of Argyll had been appointed captain-general of the invading army that was due to sail for Scotland within two weeks. Their enterprise would be doomed, plagued by one setback after another until the Earl of Argyll would find himself cornered, arrested, and subsequently executed, but as of today, none of the perpetrators knew of the horrible fate that awaited them within the next two months.
Monmouth himself would land in Dorsetshire in mid-June and be executed by mid-July, the whole rebellion, which started out with great momentum and buoyant hope petering out in less than a month, and ending with bitter disappointment for everyone who threw their lot in with the Protestant hopeful. Hugo was already implicated by virtue of trying to garner support for the rebellion, but if he failed to join Monmouth’s forces in the West Country in June, he still had a hope of escape, which I was betting on. I told Hugo as much as I could without arousing his suspicion by giving exact dates and names, but some of my predictions had already been verified by none other than Norfolk himself who’d written to Hugo, informing him of the latest developments.
For now, the plan was to get back to Everly Manor in time for Easter, which fell on April 22nd. Hugo, Jane, Clarence and all the servants and tenants would attend the Protestant service at St. Nicolas on Sunday morning. The service would be followed by an Easter dinner for the Protestants and a second service for the Catholics where a Catholic priest would perform a clandestine Easter Mass at a private chapel on the Nash estate for the immediate family and their guests. I wasn’t at all sure what the correct code of conduct would be for someone like me, who was an honorary member of the family, but not of the same religion. I thought it might be more tactful for me to stay back, but the expression on Hugo’s face told me otherwise. He expected me to attend, particularly since he planned to introduce me to his closest friend and announce our plans for departure.
I was strangely apprehensive when I saw the towers of Everly come into view. As long as we were on the road, the situation seemed manageable, but now that we were returning, anything could happen. I stole a peak at Hugo as he spotted his home. He seemed calm, but I could see the tension in his jaw as he stopped for a moment and just gazed at the solid old house sitting proudly on the ridge. The late-afternoon sun lit up the mullioned windows in a brilliant shade of crimson; the light shifting and writhing like a living thing, and giving the impression of leaping flames devouring the house from the inside. It was an eerie image, one that would stay with me for years to come. I wasn’t someone who believed in omens, but the fiery appearance of the place gave me a bad turn.
Hugo gave me a reassuring smile as we galloped toward the house, eager to be home at last, and just before Good Friday.
Chapter 37
Being at Everly Manor this time around felt completely different. I was no longer a prisoner kept against my will by a suspicious man, but a welcome guest, one who was held in high regard by the entire household. Jane was overjoyed to see us back and noticeably tried to seek out my company; whether she wanted to forge a closer bond with me or test my feelings for her brother I had yet to determine. She was at times warm and forthcoming and at times reserved and distant, watching me from under her hooded eyes as if deciding if I were worthy of her trust. I wasn’t sure how she would feel about Hugo’s intentions toward me since Hugo kept our forthcoming marriage a secret for the time being, allowing Jane to believe that I was his mistress, but I could tell that she genuinely loved her brother and wished to see him happy.
Hugo, on the other hand, was a mass of contradictions at the moment. He’d spent several hours locked in his study after we returned, plowing through his correspondence, writing numerous lette
rs to his compatriots, and generally wearing out the floorboards in his study. I suppose he still hoped that my prophecies were wrong, but I knew that deep down he believed everything I said, especially about the future of Catholicism in England. The rebellion was only a few weeks away, and as much as I tried not to dwell on it, it was constantly in my thoughts. I was a half-mile away from the church and the bridge to my old life, but my desire to escape had cooled despite the terrible doubts that plagued me day and night. For the first time in my life, I was truly torn, my brain and heart constantly at odds over the destiny I was about to choose.
As I strolled through the garden on a glorious April morning, surrounded by budding rose bushes and the lush new greenery of spring, I couldn’t help reflecting on the strange nature of reality. I’d lived in the future my entire life, and I desperately missed the creature comforts of the twenty-first century, as well as the more liberal attitudes and availability of information, but after spending nearly two months in this world I felt as if my former life was but a dream. The things that had been so important to me, like my job, my friends, and previously my relationship with Evan, seemed like a long-forgotten dream that dissipated with the bright light of day.
I didn’t miss the fast pace of city life, or the constant merry-go-round that was my life in the twenty-first century. There were no blaring televisions everywhere I went, no music pumped through speakers in every store, restaurant and pub, no constant checking of my phone for emails, messages, and the latest news. There was no rush to be anywhere or make a deadline. I’d come to realize over the past two months that most of my modern relationships were transient, built on common past experiences or work commitments. It’d been a very long time since anyone took a real interest in me and actually took the time to get to know the person underneath.
Having the benefit of hindsight, I realized that even my relationship with Evan had been devoid of depth. We’d started out much like any other couple, giving in to attraction and getting to know each other, but within a few months real life set in, and we had to make time to see each other and actually connect. Evan was a busy man who could rarely turn the world off for any length of time. He was ambitious and hard-working, which left little time for me. I, in turn, had my own job, and filled my free hours with pursuits which Evan had no interest in. I went to art galleries, foreign films, and often took day trips into the country, all the while telling myself that Evan simply didn’t have the time to do these things with me.
I hadn’t realized how lonely I really was at a time when I was in a new relationship and should have been walking on air. Perhaps that’s why I wanted the baby so badly. I wanted someone to love; someone who would love and need me for more than a few hours a day. Evan might have loved me in his own way, but he certainly didn’t need me any more than he needed his daughter. He needed success and the recognition of his peers, not the demands of emotional females.
When I first met Hugo, I thought him an arrogant, chauvinistic specimen of seventeenth-century manhood, but over the past few weeks I discovered the man underneath. Hugo didn’t love many, but he loved passionately. His devotion to a girl who left him after two weeks of marriage, his need to protect his sister from ruin, his desire to leave his estate to his nephew rather than the closest male relative were all signs of a man who took his obligations very seriously. I’d come to realize that Hugo had utterly lowered his defenses after our night together, letting me go where no one but Catherine had gone before. He would die for me, and kill for me, if necessary, but most of all he would live for me, which is what I wanted the most.
But, did my dissatisfaction with my former life and my deep feelings for Hugo justify remaining in the seventeenth century and renouncing the only life I had known? I would be giving up much more than running water, electricity, or a night in front of the telly. I would be giving up centuries of enlightenment and progress toward personal and political freedom, modern medicine, women’s rights, and the ability to be independent, remaining instead in a world where women were at the mercy of men throughout every stage of their lives.
Was I prepared to marry and have children in a time when scores of women died in childbirth, and where a simple infection could carry off a child within hours without the benefit of antibiotics? Was I ready to sacrifice everything and everyone I had known in my modern life? The answer was no, but when weighed against sacrificing Hugo, I was right back where I started. As I lay in bed next to Hugo, hearing his even breathing as he peacefully slept, I imagined being back in my flat, going to work, and making plans with friends who had to do backflips in order to carve out time from their families and jobs to so much as meet me for a drink. Was I prepared never to see Hugo again? Once more, the answer was no.
I was aware of Hugo in a way that I could only call primal. My body seemed to feel him before my mind even registered that he was in the room, and I felt a hunger that seemed to grow stronger with every passing day. I counted the minutes until we could decently retire, knowing that Hugo would come to my room and make love to me until I lost all ability to think and could only feel and respond on the most primitive level. Did all women feel this way when they met a man they were truly compatible with, or was this something special, something given only to a chosen few, perhaps ones who’d been denied love for so long that they threw themselves into it in a way that left them incomplete unless they were together?
I smiled to myself as I recalled a conversation we had on the first night of our return. Hugo was still on top of me, sated and spent, a smile of contentment on his lips as he kissed me thoroughly. I took his face in my hands, subconsciously memorizing his features. How much control did we have over what was about to happen? Was there anything Hugo could do to prevent the inevitable?
“I’m still here,” he said, smoothing my furrowed brow. He had an uncanny ability to read my mind, particularly at times when I wanted to keep my thoughts to myself.
“I’m scared for you, Hugo.” I tried not to bring it up, but I couldn’t help it. I knew what the future held, and the day of Hugo’s disappearance was drawing closer.
“I know you are, which is why we will depart by the end of next week. I need to get my affairs in order and then we will just go. Have you ever been to France?”
I had – in 2010 on a week-long holiday. My French was rudimentary, but I thought I could probably get by until I learned to speak properly. I didn’t care where we went, as long as we were safe.
“Will I be traveling as your mistress?” I asked, striving for a coy tone, but sounding rather needy even to my own ears.
Hugo just smiled at me and kissed me lightly on the tip of my nose. “Only until we reach Paris. Then, we will find a place to settle and I will get down on one knee and beg you to be my wife. What do you think of that idea?” I knew he was teasing me, but suddenly, being his wife was the only thing I wanted in this world.
“Do you mean it?”
“I never say things I don’t mean, at least not to you. I know you can see right through me. I have requested a copy of the document that declares my marriage to Catherine annulled. Once I have it, I will be free to marry you, and I can hardly wait.” A dreamy expression came over Hugo as he considered our future. I could guess what he was thinking about.
“You want a child, don’t you?” I asked, seeing the answer in his eyes.
“I have never allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to have a child of my own,” Hugo said softly. “The idea of holding my son in my arms fills me with such longing, especially when I look at you and know that you will be his mother.”
“And if we have a daughter?” I challenged him.
“Then I would love her with all my heart and protect her from anything and anyone who mean her harm. No daughter of mine would ever be left to the mercy of some man.”
Hugo was still gazing deep into my eyes, a question forming on his lips. “Neve, I know you said you have no family, but isn’t there anyone at all who should be informed that yo
u are leaving with me? Will no one look for you?”
“No, there’s no one,” I answered flatly, and meant it.
Chapter 38
It was a visit to the church that finally helped me come to terms with my decision. I’d walked to the church early on Saturday morning, hoping that it wouldn’t be crowded on a day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I was right, and the building was deserted at such an early hour. I’d meant to walk straight up to the door to the crypt to test myself, but once I was halfway up the nave, my legs simply wouldn’t carry me, turning to lead as I approached the moment of truth. I sank into a pew and closed my eyes, trying to silence my thoughts and listen to the inner voice which came not from a place of logic, but from a much deeper, more primitive part of my brain, the part that never lied to me or had an agenda of its own. Did I just walk through that door and never look back, or did I walk out of that church, march back to Everly Manor and accept my new life without reservation?
I’d finally reached that state of inner silence when a voice at my elbow nearly scared me out of my wits. “Are you all right, child?” Reverend Snow asked, looking at me with concern. “You look troubled.”
I opened my mouth to tell the Reverend that I was perfectly well and never more at peace with myself or the world, which was, of course, a blatant lie, when something entirely different came out of my mouth. I’d seen Reverend Snow only twice before, but he had a gentleness of manner and a sympathetic gaze that made him appear extremely approachable, particularly since he was no older than thirty.
“Reverend, do you ever feel lost?” I blurted out. The look on Reverend Snow’s face was one of such surprise that I was instantly sorry I said anything. This wasn’t a modern-day clergyman who could admit to doubts and his own interpretation of “the word.” This was a seventeenth-century cleric, who was most likely a zealot despite his kind demeanor. How could he possibly understand how bewildered I felt at that moment, torn between the logical solution put forth by my brain and the totally illogical one advocated by the heart?
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