Hugo placed Neve into the tub and scrubbed her until her skin glowed pink and her hair was clean. He had to do it with one hand since Neve would have just slipped under the water if he let go of her; she was as limp as a rag doll. The water in the tub was now murky, with bits of dirt floating on the surface, but he wasn’t finished. Hugo soaked Neve’s hair with vinegar and rubbed it in thoroughly, letting it do its work on the lice and fleas that took up residence in her thick tresses. The smell made his eyes water, but he left the vinegar in for a few minutes, long enough for it to suffocate the vermin. Hugo rinsed off the vinegar and lifted Neve out of the tub, laying her on the towels spread on the floor. He dried her off, pulled on a clean shift, then used the whiskey to disinfect the bites, and treated them with honey, which would aid the healing. Hugo bandaged Neve’s ankles and lifted her onto the bed. Her breathing was still shallow, but at least she was clean, which would make her happy when she finally awoke from the laudanum-induced sleep.
Hugo tucked the thick blanket around her, but not before he checked her pulse again. The apothecary had been very specific about the dosage of the laudanum, and Hugo nearly went mad imagining that the idiotic guard would give her too much. But, they had no choice but to trust him. Money was a great motivator, and the man made enough money today to buy a farm somewhere and live comfortably for the rest of his life, if that’s what he wished.
Hugo threw the dirty towels into the tub and moved a chair close to the bed so that he could watch over Neve. He was exhausted and crusted with dirt, but he couldn’t even think of having a bath or going to sleep. He needed a little time to absorb the fact that Neve was there — with him. She looked worse than he expected, but she was free, safe, and alive. The rest would follow. The fire burned down to embers by the time Hugo finally succumbed and allowed himself a brief rest. Archie tiptoed into the room and covered him with a blanket, then turned to leave, but not before he kissed the top of Hugo’s head.
“Sleep well, Hugo,” he whispered. “You’ve earned it.”
Chapter 17
I pried open my eyes to find feeble light streaming through the opening in the bed hangings. It was no more than the pearlescent light of dawn, but it hurt my eyes after being in the darkness for so long, so I turned away from it, hiding my face in the bedding. It smelled of clean linen and a tang of vinegar, but I didn’t mind. Where there was vinegar, there was usually fish and chips, and beer. I was so thirsty. I licked my lips to moisten them, but they felt dry and cracked and my teeth seemed to be made of flannel. On the bright side, the mattress was soft, and nothing was crawling either in the bedding or in my hair. I could breathe freely, the air in the room a bit stale, but still amazingly fresh compared to what I’d been breathing in since my arrest.
Of course I had to be dreaming, either that or I was already dead. I tried to remember where I was, but the last thing that came to mind was the fetid cell and the wonderful white light that beckoned to me and made me feel safe and warm. If this was what death was like, then it wasn’t bad at all. I suppose I might have expected more fanfare had I actually made it to Heaven, but this wasn’t half bad. Now, if someone would just bring the food and drink. Were people still hungry after they died? I mused languidly. Did I still have a body? I tried to move my hands to check, but my arms felt awfully heavy, although I was fairly sure they were still there.
My mind seemed to be floating, disjointed thoughts tumbling over themselves as I tried to get my bearings, but failed. My eyes kept closing of their own accord as if I were being pulled back into unconsciousness, but before I allowed my heavy eyelids to shut, I noticed a hulking shape sitting by the bed and forced myself to take a closer look, despite the dizziness that accosted me the moment I turned my head. The man looked like Hugo, but wasn’t quite him. He was dressed in filthy clothes, caked with mud and… honey?
No, that couldn’t be right. His face, gray in the dim light looked haggard and drawn; thick black stubble coating his lean cheeks and chin and a thin line of black visible just at the roots of his hair. The man was asleep with his head hanging down and his arms crossed in front of his chest. His hands were cleaner than the rest of him, but I could see some calluses where the palms were visible, and there was dirt under his fingernails. He might have looked menacing if he didn’t appear to be so worn out.
So, definitely not Heaven then, I concluded as I tumbled into darkness once more. My dreams were very vivid, and not altogether unpleasant. They were filled with color and light, things I thought I’d never see again. Fish and chips figured prominently. And bread. Fresh bread spread with butter and jam. I was still hungry. A part of my brain wanted to wake up, but I just couldn’t. I felt as if I were under anesthesia, longing to wake but unable to until some of the drug had worn off.
I tossed and turned, thrashing as the dreams became more sinister and dark. I was running for my life; my hand pressed to my stomach as I darted barefoot from one dark alley to another, looking for a way out. Someone was chasing me, but I didn’t know who; all I knew was that if they caught me I was as good as dead. I was panting and stumbling, my legs turning to lead as I tried to move toward the ray of light I could see at the end of the twisty alley. I tripped over something, lost my balance and came crashing hard onto the ground. It woke me up.
I looked around again. The shutters had been thrown open, and golden light streamed through the bed hangings, illuminating the bed and the rest of the room. It didn’t look familiar, and I was certain I’d never seen it before, but it was pretty and clean, a feminine room judging by the butter yellow and cream tones it was decorated in. Was I really in bed, or was this all part of the dream? I took an experimental sniff. It still smelled of vinegar, but there was no foul smell of waste or sweat. I was gloriously clean, and lying on a feather mattress beneath a canopy of embroidered flowers and vines on a background of sunny yellow. I was still hungry and thirsty though.
Then my sluggish brain remembered the man from before, and I turned my head experimentally. I was still slightly dizzy, but less so, my vision clearer due to the fact that my eyelids didn’t insist on closing. He was still sitting there; only now he was Hugo. He was wearing clean clothes and must have recently shaved. His hair, which had been streaked with dirt before appeared to be clean, and the dirt beneath his fingernails was gone, although his hands still looked raw and calloused.
Hugo seemed utterly exhausted with the thin skin beneath his eyes smudged with purple shadows, and the hollows of his cheeks sunken deeper than I’d even seen before. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight, and a slight tremor went through his left hand now and again, something that always happened when he was overly tired or anxious. Hugo appeared to be sleeping, but he sat up with a start, looking at me as if he’d seen a ghost. Was I really there, or was I still dreaming? If I were, I didn’t want to wake up. Any dream where I was clean, safe, and with Hugo, was my idea of Heaven.
My head felt heavy, and my thoughts were still muddled, but I was fairly sure that I was awake. I tried to move my hand, but my limbs were like iron bars, stiff and immovable as if I’d been welded to the bed. Only my stomach seemed to be back to normal, growling with hunger as it recognized the possibility of getting some food.
“Neve, you’re awake,” Hugo breathed. He was beside me now, sitting on the side of the bed, drinking me in with eyes that were clouded with worry. Hugo pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead so tenderly that I barely felt the brush of his lips. “You’ve come back to me,” he whispered, gathering me up and holding me to him. I could feel the wild racing of his heart and the hard outline of his ribs against my breasts. I wrapped my arms around him, finally allowing myself to accept that he was really there, and I wasn’t just dreaming as I lay dying in my filthy cell. I clung to him for dear life, desperate to mold every inch of myself against him and feel his solid warmth as I slowly came back to life; back to hope that the nightmare was now behind me.
“I thought I’d died. I’d given up, Hugo,
” I mumbled into his chest. “I knew I was supposed to hold on, but I just couldn’t go on in that place. How did you get me out? I don’t remember anything at all.” Hugo finally released me and I slumped against the pillows, so weak that I couldn’t even sit up without being held.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. I’ll just go down to the kitchen and get you some food. You must be starved.”
“Is there any fish and chips?” I asked hopefully, realizing that of course there wasn’t. That particular delicacy would not be readily available in England for some time yet. “I’m thirsty,” I added. “Hugo, where are we?” I called out after him.
“I’ll explain everything later,” he replied and disappeared.
**
I nearly cried with gratitude as Hugo spooned hot beef broth with chunks of mushy bread into my mouth. The warmth and richness of the broth seemed to spread through my starved body, awakening my senses with a rush. I couldn’t eat more than a few spoonfuls without feeling sick, but I lay back down, closed my eyes and commanded myself to hold down the food. I’d gulped down two mugs of apple cider and now felt as if liquid was sloshing around inside my belly, but it felt nice to be full.
While Hugo had been out of the room, I carefully allowed my hands to stray to my belly, holding my breath as I prayed for any sign of life. I wasn’t sure exactly how long I’d been incarcerated, but I knew it was definitely less than a month. Women had given birth to healthy babies in concentration camps and during times of famine and war. I had been starving, but the fetus would have taken what it needed from my body, draining me of vitamins and calcium to nourish itself. It had to have survived. It had to, I thought miserably. I couldn’t bear to lose another baby, especially not Hugo’s baby. A miscarriage would devastate us both, and I knew that Hugo would never forgive himself for putting me in danger, would never come to terms with the loss. I talked quietly to the baby, begging it to respond.
My heart nearly burst with joy as I felt a flutter beneath my palms. It was light, but unmistakable. It felt as if a tiny sea creature flipped over in its watery lair, causing ripples to spread out over the surface, subtle, but unmistakably alive. I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God over and over for not taking my baby away. The food seemed to have helped, and as the broth and bread became absorbed into my body, I felt a stronger response, the fluttering turning into more of an insistent pushing.
“Put the plate down,” I whispered to Hugo as I felt it again. I was desperate to share the feeling with him, eager to reassure him that our baby was well.
“Do you feel ill?” Hugo asked, instantly concerned.
I grabbed Hugo’s hand and placed it against my belly. “Do you feel it?” I kept moving his hand around, trying to capture the light ripples, but Hugo couldn’t seem to feel anything. Perhaps it was too soon to feel it from the outside. I was only… I let go of Hugo’s hand and tried to concentrate. What date was it? What month? I wasn’t even sure how pregnant I was.
“Hugo, what’s today’s date?” I asked urgently. “And do you have my vitamins? The baby needs them.”
“Today is October 2nd,” he replied absentmindedly as he pressed his hand a little harder on my stomach, his face lighting up with an unspeakable joy. “I felt it. I think I felt it.” Hugo climbed into bed with me and pressed his hand to my stomach as he held me close. We just remained that way for a while, cocooned within the tiny microcosm of the curtained bed, our little family, safe from the world.
My mind was teeming with questions, but I pushed them all aside, allowing myself to glory in feeling safe and loved. At some point, I would learn the truth of what happened; would need to understand Jane’s role in the events of that morning, and find out what Hugo had done to set me free, but I allowed myself a respite from all the pressing issues and gave myself up to the magic of the moment, realizing deep inside that the ordeal was far from over. There was more to come. I wasn’t sure what shape events were going to take, but I was far from free.
Eventually, I fell asleep. I was so weak I could barely move much less attempt anything more strenuous. My body felt depleted and robbed of its vitality, so I gave myself up to sleep, knowing that it was the best medicine for getting back on my feet. By the time I finally awoke it was already getting dark; purple shadows gathering in the corners of the room and behind furniture; the sharp angles of objects slowly dissolving into the twilight as the first stars began to twinkle in the sky, or would have, if not for the smoke belching from nearby chimneys. I saw the occasional pinprick of light just before it was obscured by billowing smoke. I must have slept through most of the day.
Hugo was no longer there, but he’d left a plate of buttered bread and a cup of milk for me, knowing that my stomach couldn’t handle anything more elaborate, so I bit off a chunk and began to chew as I gulped down the milk. I was starving, but had to take it slowly so as not to make myself sick. I ate half the bread, finished the milk, and leaned back against the pillows, exhausted by my efforts. I was just drifting off again when I heard the sound of voices coming from the room next door.
“Neve is never to know what we did to get her out,” Hugo said quietly, but with considerable force. “There’s no need for her to be distressed. Nor does she need to know how she got there in the first place. Agreed?”
I heard the murmur of male voices, but couldn’t quite make out who they were. Likely Brad and Archie. There was a silence, but I felt something was brewing so lay still and listened attentively. What were they trying to hide from me and why? Exactly what had happened on the day I got arrested, and what could Hugo have done to get me out of prison that would distress me so? I’d assumed that money changed hands, or I wouldn’t be here, but what else could he have done that he’d wish to keep from me?
“Archie,” Hugo said, “someone who has no connection to me must claim the corpse of that poor girl. What we have done to her is appalling, and I want to make sure that she has a proper burial and is not just tossed into a pauper’s grave in the state we’d left her in.”
“There’s no way we can rebury her in the same place,” Archie whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I know, but she can be buried someplace else. Now is not the time to reveal her identity, but maybe in the future her proper name can appear on her stone.”
I heard no answer from Archie, so assumed that he nodded in agreement.
“I’ve had word from Beth,” Bradford said quietly. I could hear the acute tension in his voice and it frightened me. Something was going on. “She’d ridden over to Everly Manor to see Jane, as I asked her to in the letter I sent on with Billingsley. The house is shut up and there’s no sign of Jane or Clarence. Beth was able to locate Harriet in the village. She’s working at the public house. The girl said that Jane had returned to Surrey on September 24th, approximately two days after Neve’s arrest. She dismissed the servants, leaving only a caretaker and several grooms to see to the horses, and left with Clarence, presumably for her house in Kent, but Harriet wasn’t sure. Cook is staying with a relative on the estate, and Liza was dismissed some time ago.”
“And Jem?” Hugo asked, his voice breaking.
“Harriet said that she hadn’t seen Jem since sometime in the summer. He just disappeared one day, and no one seems to know where he’d gone.”
“Did he leave on his own?” Hugo persisted.
“Harriet doesn’t seem to know.”
“And Liza. Where is she?”
“Jane dismissed Liza when she found out she was with child. Liza is not in the village, so she must have followed her captain back to London once Max was taken into custody, and Captain Norrington was recalled. No one seems to know for sure.” Brad’s voice was soothing, but I could hear Hugo fuming through the walls. He wouldn’t be too concerned with Liza, but he loved Jem like his own son, and the notion that no one knew what had happened to an eight-year-old boy would drive him mad with worry, especially when he was in no position to go searching for him.
&n
bsp; “Brad, you have been my closest friend for decades. You have known me and my sister since we were children. Please, explain to me what’s happening, because I just don’t understand. What am I missing? My sister lures the woman I love and who’s carrying my child into a trap and pays some thugs to have her carted off to Newgate. There’s no official warrant for her arrest, which is even more puzzling and sinister. Jane then runs off, presumably to Kent, to hide. A child I love has gone missing and no one knows or cares where he is, and a man I hardly know is in the Tower, awaiting trial and execution because the world believes him to be me. Did I leave anything out?”
“Yes, you have,” Brad added grimly. “Liza betrayed you to Captain Norrington when you stopped by Everly Manor last month. She wanted to see you arrested and executed, and I can only guess why. You’ve made an enemy, Hugo, and you mustn’t forget about her. The woman means you harm, and she’s likely in London, her ties to Captain Norrington making her dangerous. She might think you’re languishing in the Tower, but should Max be proven to be who he says he is, you will be in danger once again.”
I stopped listening as my heart rate accelerated, and my head began to ache unbearably. Jane had lured me into that alley, had paid someone to arrest me and throw me into prison where she knew I wouldn’t last long. Why? I suspected that Jane didn’t wholly approve of me, but to go to such lengths to get rid of me? She didn’t seem to mind me so much before. Was it because she thought I was merely Hugo’s mistress and he would tire of me? Was it the child and Hugo’s desire to marry me that forced her hand? Was she so desperate to have Clarence inherit?
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