“Not anymore, Master Everly, not anymore. You have friends, and those friends are willing to do everything possible to help. Bear up, man. Not all is lost.” The man tried to look reassuring, but succeeded in looking more like a tired owl, but Max didn’t care. He was the first person who’d been kind to him since coming to the past, and he wanted to prolong the interview as long as possible just to have a friendly human being to talk to.
“Who are these friends?” Max asked, baffled. Who would be willing to help him, especially if it cost money? Perhaps whoever was paying the bill was one of Hugo’s co-conspirators who thought that Hugo could be set free if his identity couldn’t be proven.
Gideon Warburton scratched a few lines across the paper, closed the inkwell, put away his notes, and rose to his feet. He knocked on the door to summon the guard.
“I will see you very soon. We have much work to do.” With that, he gave a wave of farewell and disappeared into the dim corridor. Max watched him leave with a mixture of hope and fear.
What if this is some kind of trick? Max thought as he sat back down and stared at the gathering clouds outside the narrow window. It looked as if a storm was brewing. Max was just about to lie back down on his lumpy cot when the door opened once again. The guard, who was a burly, bald thug whose nose must have been broken several times to look as misshapen as it did, came in. Max instinctively recoiled, fearing another interrogation, but the guard just set down a plate of something that smelled like roasted chicken, a jug of wine, fresh bread, and a hunk of strong-smelling cheese.
“Your paper and ink will come tomorrow,” he spat out as he turned to leave. Max fell on the food before the door was even closed. It hurt to chew, and his stomach contracted painfully after two weeks of nothing but thin gruel, but he finished every last bite, sighing with gratitude as the wine did its job and made him feel sleepy and relaxed. Whoever his benefactor was, he was a kind and generous man. Max lowered himself gingerly to his cot, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. His stomach growled with indigestion, but he didn’t care. He was almost happy.
September 2013
Surrey, England
Chapter 5
Purple shadows of autumn twilight crept shyly into the parlor, leaching the last of the daylight from the normally cheerful room. The trees whispered like conspirators, their conversation audible through the open window; the chill of the evening spreading its cold fingers over the hunched shoulders of the elderly woman who sat in front of the cold remnants of her untouched tea; the little cakes nearly dried up, and the sandwiches on the platter beginning to look wilted and unappetizing. Lady Everly didn’t bother to turn on the light or even to close the window despite the fact that she was chilled to the bone, continuing to sit in the gathering darkness which so aptly reflected her thoughts.
“Shall I turn the light on, my lady?” Mrs. Harding, the housekeeper, asked as she poked her head through the door and made for the tea tray, but Naomi Everly held up one hand, freezing her in her tracks.
“Just leave me please, Stella.”
Mrs. Harding had worked for the Everlys too long to just accept the command, so she swiftly closed the window, pulled the curtains closed, and draped a cardigan over the old lady’s shoulders before retreating into the corridor. She’d clear up the tea things later, but for now her mistress clearly needed to be alone, and Stella knew exactly why. She sighed and made her way back to the kitchen to put away the items she’d taken out for dinner. Lady Everly wouldn’t be eating tonight, and Stella was happy with a cup of tea and a sandwich in front of the telly.
Naomi Everly closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the back of the sofa, allowing herself a moment of unguarded grief. Normally, her back was ramrod-straight, her hair perfectly coiffed, and her twinset and pearls clean and crisp, but tonight she wished she could curl up in a pair of flannel pajamas with a shaggy brown teddy bear she had as a child and allow the tears to flow. Detective Inspector Knowles had telephoned earlier and asked if he might come by the house. Of course, Naomi knew that this couldn’t possibly be good news. If it were, Max would have come home instead of the inspector.
She’d known Bobby Knowles since he was a little boy who incessantly annoyed his mother as she colored and set Lady Everly’s hair in her beauty salon. What a nuisance he was then, Lady Everly thought, mentally deciding that it was that desire to annoy people that drew him to the police force. But she had to admit that D.I. Knowles was all tact and compassion when he’d come to see her. She’d offered him tea, of course, and he shyly accepted a cup and a piece of cake as he broke the news. His words still swirled in her mind, forming a strange kind of colorful helix as they writhed and intertwined, at times making no sense at all, and at other times, clear as day.
“Lady Everly,” the inspector began as he took a sip of his tea, mostly to hide his distress, “Max has been missing for several weeks now, and I’m sorry to say that the Super will not authorize any more funds on this case.”
“But my son hasn’t been found,” Lady Everly protested, knowing that it was futile.
“No, he hasn’t been,” the inspector conceded. “Look, the truth is that there’s absolutely no evidence of foul play. We’ve searched the woods inch by inch, dragged the stream, checked all of Max’s credit card, bank, computer, and cellular activity, and went door to door questioning people. We have found nothing. There’s no body, no sign of struggle, no witnesses who saw anything out of the ordinary, and no cyber-attacks on Max’s accounts,” D.I. Knowles explained.
“Max hasn’t accessed his bank account or logged on to his computer since September 4th. He hasn’t made any calls or charged anything on his credit cards.” The inspector grew silent, allowing Naomi Everly to draw her own conclusion. What he was essentially saying was that Max had either gone completely off the grid or was dead, in which case there was nothing more they could do than they had done already.
“Thank you, Inspector,” Naomi said, giving Knowles a weak smile. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have better news; he was only doing his job. Detective Inspector Knowles set down his teacup and quietly left the room, allowing Lady Everly the privacy she needed to deal with the news. Except, D.I. Knowles didn’t know what she knew, so couldn’t fully appreciate the complexity of Max’s disappearance.
Naomi slid sideways on the sofa and hugged a fluffy cushion instead of a teddy bear. She’d refused to believe it when Neve Ashley disappeared, had ridiculed Max for suggesting that such a thing could be possible, then told him to dispose of the evidence, not because she thought Neve had traveled through time, but because she didn’t want anything sordid associated with the family name. Max was going to stand for Parliament, and he didn’t need anything, no matter how unrelated, to tarnish his campaign. The whole thing was preposterous anyway. Real people didn’t time travel; they had breakdowns, went AWOL, and wound up getting years of therapy and being a drain on government resources, but they didn’t time travel.
Naomi moaned softly as she recalled the conversation with Max last May when she’d returned from Cornwall. He said Neve was back and had gone to London. She’d been in the seventeenth century. Max had been strangely tight-lipped about what happened to Neve, but he seemed very agitated and distracted. It wasn’t until Max himself had disappeared that Naomi realized that he hadn’t told her the whole truth. And now he was gone, and she had no way of getting him back. Not only did she have no idea of how to access the passage to the past, but she was too old and too frail to go searching for her son. It was clear that something terrible had befallen Max, or he would have returned by now, having satisfied his curiosity.
For one mad moment, Lady Everly thought of showing D.I. Knowles Henry’s journal, and explaining to him where Max had gone. Perhaps he could interview that Ashley woman again and find out how she managed to open the passage, but the idea was ludicrous. It’s not as if a twenty-first century detective was about to don period togs and go searching for her son in the past. It sounded
like a plot of some misconceived television show, like Doctor Who. No, Max was lost to her, possibly forever.
“Oh, Max, where are you?” Naomi wailed into the pillow. “Please, please come back.”
Up until today, Naomi had refused to entertain the thought that Max might not return, but D.I. Knowles brought it home to her that they had reached the end of the line. There was no way to find out where Max had gone or what had happened to him once there. As a mother, Naomi felt an invisible tether to her child, and knew without a doubt that Max was in terrible danger. He was alone, penniless, and friendless. Endless scenarios raced through Naomi’s mind until she felt as if her brain would explode, her heart hammering against her rib cage as she unwittingly imagined all the horrible ways a person could die in the past.
Was Max already dead? Was he lost to her forever? Was the Everly line now officially at an end? She was the last of the Everlys, the last of a noble and ancient family whose members had stood beside kings and made it into the history books. A strange tingling originated in Naomi’s right side. It started in the vicinity of her chest, but seemed to spread higher and lower. It grew stronger until she felt as if electricity were being pumped through her flesh, but only on one side. She tried to call out, but her voice failed her, and she held on to the cushion tighter, hoping the feeling would just go away. Naomi felt as if a series of small explosions were taking place in her head, making her forehead feel tight, and her eyes bulge with unexplained pressure. The tingling seemed to subside, but numbness replaced it, making the right side of her body feel unbearably heavy. Naomi tried to move, but couldn’t, the right side of her face frozen as she tried to scream.
It wasn’t until two hours later than Stella Harding found her mistress on the sofa, half of her face paralyzed and her body immovable. She called Emergency Services, but it was too late. Naomi Everly had suffered a massive stroke and would require round-the-clock care, possibly till the end of her days.
“Oh, Max, where are you?” Stella Harding mouthed as she sat by Naomi’s hospital bed. “We need you.”
September 1685
London
Chapter 6
I was still in bed, luxuriating in the warmth of the blankets when the sound of heavy footsteps brought me out of my reverie. Since our room was on the top floor, no one had any reason to be there unless they were coming to see us, and there was no one who knew where we were besides Bradford Nash. Hugo was instantly by the door, dagger in hand as he listened carefully. The footsteps stopped right outside, followed by a light knock that consisted of two knocks, followed by one knock after a space of about thirty seconds, then three more.
Hugo’s face split into a happy grin as he opened the door to reveal the fiery-headed Archie Hicks standing outside. The two men stared at each other; one in welcome, one in utter consternation, but Archie didn’t question the transformation, merely entered the room, gave me a bow and an impish smile, due to my half exposed breasts, and turned to face his master.
“I came as soon as I got your note. Harriet brought it. Seems Liza has been dismissed,” he added meaningfully.
I noticed something in Archie’s face but chose not to question it. Perhaps he’d had a relationship with the erstwhile Liza, or perhaps Jane had dismissed her for trying to warn the watch that we were in the area. It didn’t matter. Archie was here now, and I felt better, knowing that a loyal, well-trained fighter was on our side. Hugo had two more men who’d traveled with him in the past, but I liked Archie the best. He was in his mid-twenties, with bright blue eyes, and a wicked grin that I was sure set many a heart aflutter wherever he went, but that wasn’t why I was glad that Archie had come. Peter and Arnold were strong and loyal, but they were the type of men who followed orders without questioning them, obeying like drones. Archie was different; he was clever, resourceful, and charming, a quality that can be highly underrated, but can sometimes work wonders, particularly with women.
“Have you seen Jem?” Hugo asked, his face tense.
“No, can’t say as I have. Haven’t been to the house much, not since you left. Been at home, playing the farmer. My Da is getting on in years, so he needs help around the place. Wasn’t too happy to see me flying off to London at a moment’s notice, especially just at the harvest. I asked Arnold and Peter to help him out while I’m gone.”
“Did you tell them where you were going?” Hugo asked, somewhat alarmed.
“Nah. You didn’t tell me to, so I kept my counsel. I have some questions though,” Archie said, eyeing Hugo with undisguised curiosity.
“I’m sure you do, and I will answer them in due time. Now, why don’t you go downstairs and allow Mistress Ashley to rise from her bed and put some clothes on, and I will meet you there presently.”
Archie gave me an insolent wink and turned to Hugo with a wide smile. “It’s good to have you back, your lordship, even if you do look like an overgrown angel with that golden hair and those wide blue eyes. Oh, and I believe your sister is awaiting you at Master Nash’s house. She left for London yesterday, according to young Clarence. He was that glad to be rid of his mother for a few days, I can tell you. He was planning on going fishing today, and I think his tutor will not only be turning a blind eye, but joining him on the riverbank.”
“Jane is here?”
“Oh, aye.” Archie let himself out, and I heard his boots thundering down the stairs.
“I’m glad Jane’s here,” Hugo mused as he finished dressing. “Brad will ask her if she’s willing to testify on Max’s behalf at the trial. I hope she doesn’t refuse, although I can’t imagine why she might have come if she doesn’t wish to help.”
“Perhaps she only wanted to see you. You know how reclusive Jane can be. She might not want the public scrutiny. I’m sure she’s had to endure plenty since the day we vanished and left her to deal with the aftermath of your aborted arrest,” I suggested as I pulled on my hose. Jane never said anything, but I could only imagine the interrogation Captain Humphries put her through after Hugo and I disappeared from the church. She knew nothing, but that didn’t mean that anyone believed her. I knew that the house had been torn apart because Max told me so when he shared the story of Hugo’s baffling disappearance. The soldiers found nothing incriminating, nor any trace of Hugo Everly.
“Yes, I feel awful about that. Neve, I’m going to write Jane a quick note. Do you think you might be willing to take it to her? I can’t go to Nash house, but no one will pay any attention to you. You can arrange a meeting with Jane. I don’t think it would be wise to go back to Westminster again; we might become conspicuous. Perhaps we can meet at a tavern by St. Paul’s. With all the construction and people coming and going no one will notice us.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll just have some breakfast and be on my way. I’m sure you and Archie have much to discuss.”
I ate a few fresh buns, gulped down a cup of milk, and set off toward Brad’s house, leaving Archie and Hugo deep in conversation over their own breakfast. Bradford’s house was located in a fashionable area, a few streets away from Whitehall Palace. The houses here were mostly built of stone and punctuated by large mullioned windows, the diamond-shaped mullions glowing in the morning sunshine and giving the residences a cheerful appearance. The streets weren’t paved, but they were much cleaner than in Blackfriars and with less traffic rattling by.
This was the domain of the wealthy, and no place for the unwashed and boisterous masses which were found closer to the river. Brad’s house was a three-story building, bordered on both sides by houses of similar architecture and size. It appeared almost as if the houses were holding each other up since they leaned into each other in a rather intimate way. The chimneys belched smoke into the bright autumn sky, and several female servants came and went from nearby houses, baskets slung over their arms as they headed out to do their marketing.
An elderly servant opened the door and conducted me straight into the parlor where Jane was sitting bent over her embroidery. Jane never just s
at idly without having a work basket by her side. She set aside her work and came to greet me, apparently happy to see me.
“Neve, how wonderful it is to see you. Brad is not here at the moment, but I can offer you some refreshment on his behalf,” Jane offered as she invited me to sit down.
“I just had breakfast, but you go right ahead,” I replied, looking around the lovely room. It was paneled in blond wood, the upper half of the walls upholstered in a pastel fabric which gave the room an impression of airiness and light. Plump cushions padded the heavy wooden furniture, and a pastoral landscape hung on the wall, depicting what looked like Brad’s estate in Surrey. The room was cozy and comfortable, something that couldn’t be said of most parlors in this century which were not designed or decorated for comfort.
“I’m not very hungry, but perhaps a drink.” Jane called for some cider and I accepted a cup just to be polite.
“And how is my brother?” Jane asked, looking at me pointedly. “I thought you’d be in France by now. And to think that you had the passage booked and hours away from leaving England.”
“We would have been in France had it not been for this erroneous arrest. Hugo is looking for a way to help Maximilian,” I replied carefully. Jane would know nothing of Max or her family’s relationship to him, so I had to tread carefully and not let on that both Hugo and I knew exactly who Max was and where and when he’d come from.
“I just cannot begin to imagine where this man came from,” Jane said irritably. “I’ve never heard of him before. My father had three sisters who had several sons between them, but none of them would go by the name of Everly. All marriages and births are recorded in the family Bible, and I have never seen anyone named Maximilian Everly. I would dismiss his claim out of hand if he didn’t bear such an extraordinary resemblance to Hugo.”
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