Of course, he was heir to the Hiddleston estate, which was very prosperous by all accounts, but Ernest had not been titled, just wealthy. Perhaps Jane craved a title for her son, which would make him a much more desirable prospect once he was ready for marriage. At this point, the name of Everly was associated with treason, but by the time Clarence reached manhood, all this would have long blown over, especially once William of Orange took the throne three years from now as a result of the Glorious Revolution.
My head pounded unbearably as I tried to reason out what I’d heard. I could understand Liza’s venom. She’d been in love with Hugo and he thwarted her affections, or perhaps he hadn’t and had a liaison with her until he threw her over for me. Hugo never claimed to have been celibate, and Liza seemed an ambitious girl who would have done anything to better her situation. We never spoke of it, but I knew there was more there than met the eye. She was a jealous girl, capable of great malice.
And Jem… Poor, sweet Jemmy. What had happened to him? Jane had said that he was well when we saw her only a month ago when she clearly knew he wasn’t. Was she just lying to Hugo to spare him the worry, or had she done something to the poor boy? Where would he have gone? As far as I knew, Jem had no family to turn to and no income of any kind to fall back on. He was only eight, for God’s sake, my mind screamed.
I suddenly felt very cold. Everything that had happened to Hugo over the past months had been either a direct or indirect result of my actions. I’d managed to save his life, but at what cost? Jane seemed to have become totally unhinged, Jem disappeared, Max wound up in the Tower, and Liza was nursing a grudge against Hugo that could conceivably cost him his life if he came across her by some unexpected twist of fate. I sank deeper into the mattress and closed my eyes, the bread I’d eaten sitting in my stomach like a lead weight. When Hugo finally came into the room I pretended to be asleep, unable to face him after what I’d heard. I knew he was devastated, and there was nothing I could do to help.
Chapter 18
As the sun finally set and the shadows of dusk began to pool in the corners of the tiny cell, Max cursed profusely as he fiddled with the contents of the tinderbox in an effort to light the candle. It still took him at least a half hour to finally get the wick to catch once he produced a spark, leaving his forehead beaded with sweat and his hands shaking with the effort. What he wouldn’t give for a lighter, or even a box of matches, he fumed as the tiny flame finally sprang to life, casting a pool of feeble golden light just enough to dispel the gloom of the cell, but not actually light it.
Max sat down on the cot, resting his back against the rough stone of the wall. It felt hard and cold, but it was also the only back support he could get since sitting on the low stool became uncomfortable after a time. He spent some time sitting on the narrow window ledge, watching the comings and goings on the Tower green below. He had no idea who all those people were, or what business brought them to the Tower of London, but it was a diversion, and as long as he didn’t see any more executions, it gave him a way to spend some of the time that seemed to crawl at a glacial pace, especially during the early afternoon.
Max tried to impose some kind of a routine on his day, but it still seemed interminable with so many hours of idleness. Since his injuries had healed, he made sure to do at least an hour of exercise in the morning; walking around the cell, doing push-ups and jumping jacks, and at least two hundred sit-ups, to keep his muscles from becoming weak and lax from all the sitting he was doing. At the rate I’m going, I’m going to be the healthiest corpse at the cemetery, he thought bitterly.
Max tried to read when the light was brightest, but his mind kept wandering, his situation never far away, even when he was asleep. He’d been in the Tower for about a month now, a month during which he’d felt the kind of uncertainty and terror he’d never known in his twenty-first century life. Max stared at the little flickering flame of the candle, thinking, not for the first time, that his life was much like that flame — burning steadily for a time, but vulnerable to any draft or breeze which could blow it out without warning, the flame extinguished forever.
Granted, Gideon Warburton gave him hope — more than hope. The man was a marvel, especially by seventeenth-century standards. He came once a week to check on his client and give him a brief update of his own activities on Max’s behalf. Whoever Max’s mysterious benefactor was, he wasn’t sparing any expense in having his case proven to the best of Warburton’s ability. Max wasn’t sure that he liked the man himself, but he had to admit that he had a fine legal mind, one that liked the challenge of proving the impossible.
Master Warburton had been to see him only that afternoon. He thanked the guard graciously for allowing him in, took the proffered stool, and handed Max the latest care package, containing a new book, a jug of brandy, and several beeswax candles. Max could have used a clean shirt, since he hadn’t bathed in a month, but couldn’t bring himself to ask for one.
“How is it with you, Master Everly?” Gideon Warburton asked as he shifted his ample hips on the stool in an effort to get more comfortable.
“As well as can be expected,” Max replied, eager to hear what the lawyer had to say. “Is there any news?” Max was in equal parts eager and terrified to hear that a trial date had been set. The trial would either be an opportunity to prove his case and gain his freedom, or the final act before a public execution for treason.
“Yes, as it happens,” Warburton replied, giving up the stool and going to stand by the window. “I have obtained a sample of Lord Everly’s writing and compared it with yours. Definitely not written by the same hand,” he stated, nodding to himself in satisfaction. “Also, I have visited Lord Everly’s tailor and bootmaker and requested a copy of his measurements.” Max had thought it odd when at their last meeting the lawyer had insisted on measuring his height and shoe size, but now it all made sense.
“You are two inches taller than Lord Everly, and your feet are considerably longer and wider. This in itself will not prove that you are not him, but it will certainly help our case. A man doesn’t just grow in his middle years, nor does his shoe size change — unlike his girth,” he added, patting his own round belly in an attempt at humor. Max smiled to make him happy, pleased that the man wasn’t just sitting around twiddling his thumbs, but actually going out there and searching for evidence.
“Is that all we have?” Max asked, trying not to sound desperate.
“We have several witnesses who will testify to your identity after being given a few minutes with you before the trial. I cannot get permission to bring them all here, but you will have ample time to prove that you are not Hugo Everly. Our best chance lies with Jane Hiddleston, Hugo Everly’s sister. By all accounts, the two are very close, so she’s sure to spot right away that you are not her brother,” Warburton explained.
“Mrs. Hiddleston seems to have left London for a time, but she will be induced to come back by royal subpoena once the date of the trial has been set. I have asked for several weeks to prepare my case and have been granted the extension. No one wants to execute the wrong man, Mr. Everly, of that you can be sure. The charges against Lord Everly are grievous ones, so it’s in everyone’s best interests that the right man be punished. I do hope that gives you some small degree of comfort.”
“It does, Master Warburton, and I thank you for your work on my behalf.”
The lawyer peeled himself away from the windowsill and turned toward the door. He didn’t smile or shake Max’s hand, but Max felt an aura of goodwill emanating from the man and could have kissed him had it been even remotely appropriate. “Please convey my regards to my benefactor and thank him for me,” Max called out as Gideon Warburton disappeared into the corridor. He didn’t hear an answer, but he was certain Warburton heard him.
Max turned over the book in his hands, wondering what possessed the lawyer to choose this particular volume, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and having something to read was better than nothing at all. Max flipped t
hrough the pages, selected a poem at random and began to read.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die. Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
Max’s soul felt lighter than it had in over a month. He felt undeniably hopeful, the taste of freedom intoxicating on his lips as if he’d already been released.
Chapter 19
Gideon Warburton breathed a sigh of relief as he came out onto the green. The thick walls of the Tower always made him feel as if all the air had been sucked out of the place, leaving just enough for the inmates to survive. The prisoners held at the Tower were much more comfortable and treated considerably better than the unwashed masses at the other prisons, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t meet the same end. Gideon had tried to find as much evidence as he could to exonerate Maximillian Everly, and hoped that his case was at least worth considering.
He’d petitioned to have the witnesses visit the prisoner to ascertain whether he was indeed Hugo Everly, but the request had been denied, which was ridiculous under the circumstances. How could a person testify in a case of identity when they’d had no opportunity to examine the accused? There was no doubt that whoever tried the case would be prejudiced against the prisoner, but there was little choice. At least legal representation had been permitted, which was a huge victory in itself.
Gideon allowed himself a moment of joy as he imagined Bradford Nash congratulating him on winning an impossible case and perhaps even giving him a hug— a bear hug, which would leave him breathless. Bradford’s approval means everything, Gideon thought as he passed through the gates and onto the crowded street beyond. Gideon found that he was hungry, so he found an appealing tavern and went in, ordering himself a plate of roast beef. He was used to dining alone, and entertained himself by examining the people around him.
A buxom girl brought the food and set a tankard of ale in front of him, bending over just low enough to stick her breasts in his face. She gave Gideon a winning smile and patted his hand. “Do let me know if you desire anything else, love. My name’s Dulcie, and an extra coin can purchase delights you’ll not likely soon forget,” she whispered in his ear, making Gideon recoil. He couldn’t think of anything more repulsive than touching Dulcie. She smelled strongly of woman, a scent that would drive most men wild, but left him mildly nauseated.
“Thank you, my dear,” Gideon replied, “but I am very devoted to my wife.”
“Well, lucky her,” Dulcie said as she made an exaggerated face of disappointment. “Well, if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
Dulcie shoved off, throwing a last sulky look over her shoulder, but Gideon had already forgotten all about her. Instead, his thoughts turned to Maximillian Everly. Gideon had visited him three times now and there was just something about the man that bothered him. Maximillian was attractive and clearly educated; he looked like a man who’d lived an active life, his body lithe and trim. He must have spent time outdoors since there were traces of a most ungentlemanly tan on his face and hands. But, his clothes were not those of a nobleman and his wording when he spoke was a trifle odd. He’d mentioned that he’d spent time abroad. Perhaps that accounted for his manner, but how was it possible that a man who’d been born and bred in England had no one who could vouch for his identity?
Gideon supposed that it was reasonable to assume that his parents were deceased, and he had no friends left in England if he’d been gone for a long time, but Max didn’t strike him as someone who’d be alone for long. Did he not have lovers? Perhaps he didn’t have a mistress but preferred the company of whores. Some men went in for that type of woman, one who had no shame and no inhibitions. A mistress would expect affection, some type of financial benefit, and promises of a future, even if they were utterly untrue. A whore asked for nothing save her fee and a robust squiring, if that term was still applicable. Gideon wouldn’t know.
He momentarily stopped chewing and tried on a fantasy of being with Maximillian on for size. It didn’t work. Gideon might not have ever had a lover, but if he had, he would be loyal till the grave, and Bradford Nash had his heart.
Chapter 20
Over the next few days, I did nothing but eat and sleep. I now had a new appreciation for all the ordinary things I’d always taken so much for granted. A hot bath made me giddy with joy; a warm fire in the grate and light shining through the window appeared miraculous, and abundant food and drink were something to be grateful for every single day. Since there were no servants in the house, the men didn’t even attempt to cook, which was a blessing. Brad sent Archie to various taverns in the area to bring back our dinner and supper. This was the seventeenth-century equivalent of take-away, and I was just fine with that. I was tired of broth-soaked bread and milk. My body craved protein, so Archie brought back whatever meat dishes were available. I’d never been a huge fan of roast beef, but at the moment, I could have eaten it three times a day given the opportunity.
I must be lacking iron, I thought as I inhaled the wonderful smell of beef wafting from downstairs. I was also craving apples, which Hugo bought at the market by the bushel. They’d been brought from the country by various farmers and were crisp, juicy, and full of the vitamins my body so desperately needed. My little tenant seemed to be happy, and rolled around inside my belly with greater frequency and vigor, which was the reassurance I needed that everything was well.
I was slowly regaining my physical strength, but not my peace of mind. The notion that I could be snatched off the street at any time haunted me; making me afraid to set foot outside for fear that I was fair game. Did anyone actually know or care that I had escaped from prison? Was anyone likely to be looking for me? These questions swirled in my mind day and night, spawned by my desperate need to understand Jane’s inexplicable behavior and my miraculous escape. Why didn’t Hugo want me to know what happened? Who was the woman they’d referred to in their hushed conversation, and what had they done to her that was so appalling? I tried asking Hugo about that night, but he avoided my questions and told me not to worry and just rest.
I didn’t want to upset Hugo or cause him any pain by insisting on talking about Jane’s part in my arrest, but I couldn’t carry this burden by myself any longer, nor could I stand his look of concern. Hugo insisted on sleeping on a truckle bed in my room, jumping to attention if I so much as sighed in my sleep. I knew that he felt responsible for what happened and ha
d been through hell knowing what I’d gone through, but this had to stop.
“Hugo, come to bed,” I whispered as he blew out the candle and settled on his cot. The cot whined in protest, being too flimsy for a fully grown man. It was usually used by young female servants or children, and not meant for someone of Hugo’s weight and height. I couldn’t imagine that he was very comfortable, but he insisted on giving me the use of the bed.
“I don’t want to disturb you, sweetheart. You need your rest,” he countered, sounding as stubborn as only a seventeenth-century man can when dealing with a hormonally-charged pregnant woman. Hugo hadn’t touched me since I’d been back, limiting himself only to tender kisses and warm hugs. I could see perfectly well through his ruse; he wasn’t afraid of disturbing me, but afraid of his own desire, which he felt was inappropriate under the circumstances. He thought it would be selfish of him to make love to me when I was still recovering from my ordeal. Little did he understand that I needed him more than ever; the feel of his body next to mine being the best protection he could give me, and his love and affection a shield against the terror I still felt deep inside.
I decided not to debate the issue, knowing full well that he would resist. His chest was being crushed by the magnitude of his guilt, and no words would make any difference. I slid out of bed, untied the ribbon of my chemise and allowed it to pool around my feet as I stood over Hugo, smiling in invitation. A few days ago, I wouldn’t have liked for Hugo to see me naked, but tonight I felt more confident. I had regained some of the weight I’d lost, and the bites had begun to heal, leaving faint marks on my ankles and arms. My skin glowed in the golden haze from the fire, making me appear gilded and gloriously healthy. My breasts felt heavy, and my rounded belly rippled as the baby decided to participate in my grand plan of seduction and did a summersault.
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