It was still early in the morning, the sun just rising over the rooftops and casting pink and gold ribbons of light onto the muddy waters of the Thames, making it look heartbreakingly beautiful as it sparkled and flowed through the heart of London, which was still lost in shadow, only the top floors painted light by the sunrise. There were several ferrymen on the bank waiting for fares, and they waved to him, hoping he’d need to be taken across.
Hugo just shook his head and walked on, eager for the exercise and fresh air. He felt stiff and achy after lying on the floor all night, but he welcomed the discomfort, knowing that it was nothing compared to what Neve must be going through. The thought of her and the baby nearly undid him again, but Hugo gave himself a stern warning and walked on. He was practically trotting, but he needed to release some of this tension in order to could focus his mind. Last night had been a moment of weakness and self-pity, but today was a new day, and he’d be damned if he just gave up.
Neve had said that the subconscious mind was a very powerful thing, one that sometimes held a key to a puzzle or an answer to a riddle. Hugo wasn’t sure when the idea had come, perhaps it formed during the night when he believed himself unable to even think, much less plan, but the seeds had taken root, giving him a burst of energy and a seedling of hope. He hadn’t even realized that he remembered the story. It’d made an impression on him at the time, and now he tried to recall every detail of the Earl of Argyll’s escape only a few years before. The tale had been told at a dinner party, and everyone had made much of the Earl’s daring, praising his ingenuity.
Archibald Campbell, the 9th Earl of Argyll, had been imprisoned at Edinburgh Castle on a charge of perjury. A sentence of death, as well as forfeiture, had been pronounced in his absence after a letter had been received from Charles II demanding that a sentence be passed without further delay. The earl’s estates were to be stripped from him, and his hereditary jurisdictions reassigned, leaving his heirs disinherited and disgraced. Argyll expected to be executed within the coming days, but still held out hope, being a man who didn’t give up easily. He was surprised when a lady of his acquaintance came to visit him in his chamber.
Hugo couldn’t recall her name, but she must have been a woman of great courage and cunning. The lady came accompanied by a page who wore a wig and a bandage over his head since he’d recently been injured in a fight. She’d spent some time with the Earl of Argyll, talking quietly, and was in tears when she finally left, having bid goodbye to her dear friend for the last time. The page helped her into the carriage and got on the back of the conveyance as it drove through the gates of the castle and into Edinburgh. The page jumped off a few minutes later and melted into one of the darkened wynds, disappearing without a trace.
It was discovered a few hours later that the man who came and the man who left were not the same person. The Earl had changed into the page’s clothes, donned his wig and bandaged his head, enabling him to walk out of captivity without so much as a scratch. The page had been roughed up by the angry guards, but they could hardly keep him locked up since he was innocent of any crime other than duplicity. It had been a brilliant plan; one that Hugo had much to learn from. Hugo said a brief prayer for the soul of the Earl of Argyll, who had been executed only a few months ago in Edinburgh for his role in the Monmouth Rebellion. Argyll had been a brave and cunning man, and loyal to the last.
Hugo turned on his heel and began to walk back to the inn, suddenly impatient. He needed to wake Archie and discuss the plan with him. It was a good idea, but there would be many details to work out since they could hardly just walk into Newgate and walk out with Neve. But, it was a starting point, a pinprick of light, and a beacon of hope. Hugo burst into the inn and ran up the stairs, searching for Archie. He’d refused a room of his own, and was sharing a bed with several other travelers who were still in various stages of undress and packed into the bed like herrings into a barrel. Hugo shook Archie by the shoulder until the young man finally awoke. His face was a mask of annoyance at being disturbed, but he instantly climbed over several men and began to hastily pull on his breeches.
“Get dressed and come to my room,” Hugo said, leaving Archie to finish getting dressed. He had no wish to speak in front of others, even if they were asleep.
“Did something happen?” Archie asked as he entered the room a few minutes later. “Is it Mistress Ashley?”
“No, nothing has happened, but I’ve been thinking,” Hugo began, outlining his idea for Archie.
Archie stared at Hugo in utter disbelief. He didn’t want to criticize the plan, especially since it was practically his fault that the mistress was in prison, but Hugo was waiting for him to speak, and he had to be truthful. Archie took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Your lordship, I know you’re angry and grieving, but that sounds a trifle far-fetched if you ask me. The lady in question found some poor sod who was willing to trade places with the Earl, not knowing if they might throw him in prison or execute him instead out of sheer spite. Who would be willing to trade places with a woman accused of witchcraft I ask you? And how do you propose to get her in and your lady out?” Archie reasoned.
“It’s madness, pure and simple. Begging your pardon, my lord,” Archie added apologetically. He took a step back just in case Hugo might fly into a frustrated rage, but Hugo just nodded, taking Archie’s points under consideration.
“You are absolutely correct, Archie. No one in their right mind would agree to such a scheme, and even if they did, there’d be no way to get them in and Neve out, which is precisely why I wasn’t planning the exact same thing as the Earl. It is, however, a good idea, one worth exploring, and I have something in mind, but first we must make some inquiries, and that’s where you come in. Here’s what I need you to find out.” Hugo filled Archie in, itemizing a few things he’d thought of only a few moments ago on his way back to the inn.
Archie snorted with disbelief, his eyes growing round in his face. “You are really serious, aren’t you?”
“Deadly serious,” Hugo replied evenly, suddenly afraid that Archie was right and his plan was insane.
“Well, it’s a mad scheme. I don’t see how we can pull this off, but I will do anything that’s required.”
“I know, Archie, and I appreciate it. You have the right to refuse, of course, seeing as how this might end up with you being in Newgate instead.”
“You can’t do this on your own,” Archie protested, noting the look of desperation in his master’s eyes. “I will do whatever it takes.”
With that, Archie donned his hat, pulled it low over his eyes and left the room to pursue the first item on the list. Hugo breathed a sigh of relief. Archie was right; there was no way he could execute this wild idea by himself. He needed at least one more man, a man who was willing to risk arrest, injury, and possible death. Not to mention eternal condemnation of his soul and an eternity in Hell.
Hugo put on his own hat and moved toward the door. He’d given Archie only part of the list. The rest he had to do himself.
Chapter 11
I woke up with a terrible cramp in my leg, and it took me some time to get to my feet and walk it off. I had no idea exactly how long I’d been in prison, but it was starting to feel like weeks. No one had come to talk to me, and any attempt I made at communication with the guard who brought my food ended in silence. The guard wouldn’t answer any of my questions or even acknowledge that I was speaking. I’d seen several gaolers pass my cell from time to time, but none of them even looked in my direction or answered when I tried to call out. I could see the glow of a torch from my cell and hear fragments of conversation, crying, and moans, but for the most part, I’d been left completely alone.
I felt dizzy as I tried to walk, holding on to the damp walls and trying not to step into piles of excrement in the corner or a pool of urine that hadn’t dried yet. My gown was filthy, and my hair matted from lack of washing and brushing. I twitched as I imagined that something crawled over my skin and
scratched my head frantically, fearing that I was infested with lice, although I wasn’t sure if you could get them without contact with other prisoners. I supposed some lived in the straw that I was forced to lie down on when I slept.
I hadn’t eaten anything but gruel since I got here, and I was dehydrated and starved. My body needed food for my baby, but I hadn’t so much as had a piece of bread or any kind of protein in days. I was lightheaded and nauseous, and my legs buckled under me after only a few steps. I was starting to feel lethargic; my mind refusing to recite any more poems or sing any more songs. All I could do was sit hunched against the wall, desperate to remain upright in case I fell down in my sleep and the rats gnawed on my face.
My tongue felt like flannel in my mouth, and I would have sold my soul for a glass of cold water and a hot shower. At first, I had been concerned with the lack of hygiene, but now my main worry was malnutrition. I kept talking to the baby, begging it to hold on until help arrived, but after days of being locked up in this hellhole, I was beginning to doubt that it ever would. I’d truly believed that Hugo would get to me somehow. He was the most resourceful man I’d ever met, and despite the hopelessness of the situation, I thought he might find a way to get me out, or at least to get a message to me. The horrible realization that he might have been arrested as well came sometime in the night, draining away the last vestiges of hope and plunging me into a renewed panic.
Hugo wasn’t coming, nor was anyone else. I’d be left here until I died of starvation or disease. It wouldn’t take long if the bites on my ankles became infected. With no medical attention, I’d be dead within days, my body tossed into some unmarked grave by the guards. I’d seen them pass by from time to time with what looked like a dead body. They might have been grunting with the effort of carrying dead weight, but the prisoners were so malnourished that they were more like bags of bones rather than human beings, their appearance no longer resembling anything more than a scarecrow.
Memories of my last miscarriage snuck up on me from time to time, making me shake with apprehension. What if I miscarried in here, or worse yet, what if I went into labor and gave birth to a live child? What would I do? How would I feed it? How would I care for it when I didn’t have the strength to care for myself? I hadn’t even been given any water, much less decent food or an opportunity to wash. They could leave me this way indefinitely since no one seemed in any rush to put me on trial. Not that that would be such a blessing.
There was only one outcome to a witch trial, and I knew exactly what it was. Suddenly, the idea of drowning didn’t seem so bad. Slipping below the surface of cool, clean water, all my sins washed away as my lungs filled and I peacefully drowned. Well, there was probably nothing peaceful about it, but compared to the alternative, it seemed like a peaceful release. The idea of being burned alive left me convulsing with terror; my mouth going even drier than it already was, and my teeth chattering in my head until I bit my tongue. I couldn’t imagine anything more horrific than being slowly roasted while bloodthirsty spectators watched my unbearable agony.
Hanging might be better than burning, but the idea of a rope tightening around my neck until my eyes bulged with lack of oxygen and my lungs burned as I strained to breathe, was nearly as terrifying. I knew enough about public hangings to know that if the neck wasn’t instantly broken, the victim actually took a very long time to die, sometimes as long as an hour. Contrary to the way that type of execution was portrayed in films, where after kicking their legs for a few minutes in the aptly named “Hangman’s jig,” and clawing at the rope, the victim was usually good and dead.
I found that the only way to make it through the day was to allow myself to float. I’d sit against the wall with my skirt tied around my ankles, close my eyes and relive various memories. Sometimes my mind went forward to the twenty-first century, replaying happy memories of outings with friends, walks in the park in the spring, and drives in the country as the leaves began to change, painting the world in glorious shades of burnished orange, blazing crimson, and golden yellow. I’d salivate as I remembered good meals and wine-soaked dinners in charming restaurants, and the feeling of contentment that came from knowing that my life was happy and well-organized.
But most of all I thought of Hugo. My mind frequently drifted back to the day we met in the lane when his huge horse nearly ran me down and he’d picked me up and carried me to the house, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat, and his mouth set in a grim line as he contemplated me sullenly. I remembered feeling intimidated by him, believing him to be a callous, prideful man. How wrong I had been.
My mind produced snapshot after snapshot of Hugo laughing at something Jem said, or dicing with Archie, Arnold, and Peter, and allowing them to win. I saw him watching me as I sang, his eyes full of quiet longing, and the feel of his skin against mine as he touched me and loved me, his lips paying homage to my body as if I were a goddess and he my most humble servant.
I would give anything to feel Hugo’s strong arms around me and hear the beating of his heart, to know that he was still alive and searching for me, and that my hope wasn’t in vain. I needed to believe in something while I was in here, or there was no point for me to go on. As I imagined spending months in this filthy cell, my will to live seemed to waver; a desire for a quick death springing unbidden in my fevered mind as memories of happy times were replaced by more macabre images, ones I couldn’t bear to dwell on without thrashing and screaming; my heart racing and my body shaking uncontrollably with terror. Was this really how my life was going to end? Was this some twisted way in which History righted itself and punished me for interfering with the timeline? Was Hugo meant to die this year, and getting me out of the way the only way to accomplish that?
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to breathe to calm my thudding heart. I was being ridiculous. There was no such entity as History; not one that could pull our strings as if we were puppets to attain a particular goal. History was just a series of events which had already happened, not which were about to happen. It couldn’t retaliate against me. Or could it?
Chapter 12
“You must eat,” Archie said forcefully as he placed a bowl of stew and a chunk of bread in front of Hugo. Hugo was so consumed with their plan that he’d barely eaten over the past few days; his already lean frame shrinking noticeably. Hugo’s hair had grown out over the past few weeks, a line of black now visible close to the scalp, and his eyes were red — partly from lack of sleep and partly from those shards of blue glass he had inserted in them. Archie hoped he wouldn’t be blinded by the friction. Nothing would induce him to put something in his eyes, much less something as hard and sharp as glass. As it were, Hugo’s eyes burned with an unholy light as he feverishly made plans for Neve’s escape.
“Eat,” Archie said again, more insistently this time.
“Thank you, Archie, but I just can’t seem to hold anything down,” Hugo replied, pushing the bowl away. “You have it.”
Archie pushed the bowl back toward Hugo, cocking an eyebrow. “How do you expect to get Mistress Ashley out when you barely have the strength to hold a spoon? You need brute physical strength for what we are planning, or have you changed your mind?” Archie berated him. “You do it for her, and you hold it down no matter what it takes.”
Hugo couldn’t help smiling at the determined young man. “Ever consider a career in the army? You would have been very good at leading men into battle. All right, give it here.” Hugo took a spoonful of the aromatic stew and chewed with determination before swallowing. Archie saw the throat muscles working as Hugo took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he turned green around the gills. He was clearly unwell, but he had to eat, had to keep his strength up. They would have one chance and one chance only, and Hugo had to be in fighting form in order to carry it off. Hugo took another spoonful and forced it down, not chewing as much this time. He continued to shovel in the food without tasting it or smelling it, just to get it inside him. Archie could see that Hugo
was fighting waves of nausea, but he finished the food and pushed the bowl away with an air of satisfaction at having completed the task.
“Good, I’ll bring you more food in a couple of hours. Now lie down and get some sleep. You look like death.” Archie stood firm until Hugo pulled off his boots and sat on the bed.
“I can’t stop thinking, Archie. Neve’s been in there for over a week now. I can’t begin to imagine what she must be feeling. I have no way of getting word to her, so she must think I’ve forsaken her, or perhaps she imagines that I’ve been arrested as well, which would kill her. I don’t know if she is all right or if she’s getting enough food. She’s eating for two, and she must be starving,” Hugo said quietly. “She’s always hungry. Every time I put something in my mouth I feel such guilt, knowing that her belly is likely gnawing with hunger. I would gladly go hungry if it would help her in some way.”
“You have been going hungry,” Archie reminded him, “and it’s not helping anyone. Now, feet up, head down, and eyes closed. I will check on you in a bit and you better be sleeping. I have a wagon to purchase.”
Hugo gave Archie a sad smile as he complied, wishing only to be left in peace so he could think about Neve. He dreamed of her every time he closed his eyes, and woke up bathed in cold sweat, terrified that his plan wouldn’t work. There was so much at stake, and so much could go wrong. He’d gone over everything a hundred times, but there were aspects of the plan which were outside his control.
Eventually, Hugo began to drift off to sleep. Archie was right; he needed his strength, and he had to get hold of himself and do everything in his power to make sure that he wasn’t the weakest link of this chain. They were planning to carry out their mission in two days’ time, and he had to shut off his emotions and concentrate only on the task at hand. He owed Neve that much, and he would not fail her.
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