Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  “And how old was your gallant rescuer at the time?” I asked, trying to imagine Hugo as he had been then.

  “I reckon he was ‘bout seventeen. He seemed very grown up to me, especially since he was old enough to shave. I felt stubble against my cheek when he held me and thought him quite the man. He came back the following week and took me fishing for real, and we had a sort of picnic afterwards,” Archie reminisced happily. “I thought the sun rose and set on him that summer. Then he left for London come autumn. Went to Court with his father.”

  “And what of Jane? Did you see her much?”

  “I’d seen her in church, but she never looked at anyone. She was a haughty little thing. I was glad to see the back of her when she married and left Everly Manor.”

  “And what about you, Archie? Have you never wanted to be married? Is there no fair maiden waiting for you back in Surrey?” I asked. Perhaps I was prying, but I was genuinely interested in getting to know Archie better. He rarely spoke of himself, and this was the first time we’d really talked.

  “No, there isn’t,” Archie replied, reaching for another slice of bread. “I never stay long enough to make promises to a lass.” He seemed reluctant to speak of his private life, which made me even more curious. Unlike in my own time when people tended to overshare, and do so in the most public of ways, the men in this century were rarely willing to speak about their private lives. They kept their own counsel, which I actually found a lot more attractive than all the attention-mongering of modern men who often came off as crybabies and primadonnas.

  “Do you not wish to settle down?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t making him uncomfortable.

  “No. Love and marriage kill,” Archie replied with unexpected fire.

  “Whatever do you mean, Archie?”

  “I’ve never been in love, Mistress Ashley, but I know what real love looks like, and I know the power the loss of that love has to destroy the human spirit. I’ve seen what it did to my father after my ma passed, and I know what it’d done to my sister. Greater suffering I never wish to behold.”

  “What happened to your sister, Archie?” I asked, carefully. Sister Julia was a lovely, warm woman. She’d been very kind to me and especially to Frances, who’d been brutalized and frightened when we brought her to the good sisters of the Sacred Heart. I’d assumed that something had driven Julia to renounce the world, but had no idea what that might be.

  “It’s not for me to say, but I can tell you it nearly killed her, as it nearly killed his lordship when he thought he’d lost you. He was in a bad way.” Archie stared down at the table, too polite to just get up and leave, but clearly not willing to continue the conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Archie. I didn’t mean to pry. I just wonder about you sometimes,” I said, giving him a conciliatory smile.

  “I’m not all that interesting, Mistress Ashley,” he replied and rose from the table with a stiff bow. “Now, please excuse me; I have things to see to.”

  Chapter 24

  The Convent of the Sacred Heart was hidden in a forest, reachable by a narrow path, more a deer track that forked off a deserted stretch of road about a day’s ride away from the city of Guilford. We’d been there once before, and now were on our way there again, once more in search of help. I had to admit that a part of me was relieved not to have to face Jane. I couldn’t begin to imagine what my reaction to seeing her would be. I’d trusted her, considered her a friend, and looked forward to being her sister-in-law, so the magnitude of her betrayal left me breathless with rage and hurt.

  I suppose I never really knew her, but Hugo had, and he was just as bewildered and angry; a burning rage simmering inside him that would consume him if he didn’t find some kind of a resolution. Hugo was one of those men who just retreated into themselves when hurt or angry, and spent hours staring into space as we rode to Surrey, agonizing over the coming confrontation and probably playing out one scenario after another in his mind. I left him be, knowing that he needed to work this out for himself. There was nothing I wished to say in Jane’s defense, nor did it seem right to tell Hugo how to deal with the situation. Archie, who was always sensitive to Hugo’s moods, was quieter than usual as well. He refrained from making jokes or singing, giving the master time to brood. Normally, I would have been annoyed by Hugo’s uncommunicative demeanor, but under the circumstances, he was entitled to a little silent reflection.

  As we turned off the road and got deeper into the woods, the riotous colors of autumn bloomed overhead, red, yellow and gold offset by the occasional glimpses of the cloudless blue sky peeking through the branches overhead. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining, the October day unspeakably glorious in its perfection. The forest smelled of decomposing leaves, damp wood, and that special scent of autumn, which reminds one that winter is never far away. It was colder in the shadow of the trees, so I pulled my cloak closer around my body suddenly remembering the last time we’d traveled this path.

  It had been early spring, and the fresh green of new leaves had formed a canopy over our heads, shielding us from the weak April sunshine and teasing us with the promise of rebirth and redemption. We’d all been a little shell-shocked by the events that took place at the home of Lionel Finch, still recovering from the unexpected aftermath of Hugo’s interference in defense of Frances. Jemmy had been severely concussed after having his head smashed against the stone wall by Finch, and Frances nearly insensible with pain from the vicious beating at the hands of her husband.

  Lionel Finch had assaulted me as well, and for the first time in my life I’d encountered someone who truly meant me harm. Strange, that I should be coming back to the convent after another such incident, but one even more frightening and real. In the twenty-first century, it was easy enough to cause someone irreparable damage simply by tapping a few keys, or posting some damning information without ever meeting them face to face or sullying one’s hands, but in the seventeenth century that wasn’t an option.

  Physical harm was the calling card of the day; harm that often led to death. I shuddered at the memory of Lionel Finch’s eyes as they bore into mine, the cruel smile stretching his lips as he threatened to hurt me. Another few moments and he would have smashed in my face, as he had done to several others whom he’d left blinded and permanently disfigured.

  Hugo had saved me from the beating, but he paid a heavy price, having made a mortal enemy that day. It had been Lionel Finch who’d denounced Hugo and brought charges against him, and now Hugo was a fugitive, Max imprisoned in his stead, and Frances shut away in a convent in the woods just to keep her safe from Finch’s vengeance. That one incident had changed the course of all our lives, and had literally changed history. And now we were coming back after another such incident, seeking sanctuary.

  I put Jane and Lionel Finch out of my mind as the sharpened spikes of the convent wall finally came into view, making my heart beat faster with the anxiety of the coming farewell. What I wouldn’t give to be able to communicate with Hugo, but this wasn’t the future, and he could hardly send me a text letting me know that he was all right and on his way back. I’d been happy enough to give up the relentless pull of the Internet with its alternate reality run on countless gigabytes of useless information, but the ability to communicate when necessary was one thing I sorely missed. Once Hugo left, I’d be completely in the dark, shut away from the outside world until he came back for me.

  If anything happened to him, my only way of finding out would be to eventually leave the safety of the convent and go into the nearest village where I might be lucky enough to overhear a little bit of gossip. With no telephones, television, or newspapers, there was no way for me to learn anything, and the total informational blackout was not something I was looking forward to, especially since Hugo was going blindly into a potentially dangerous situation. Hugo dismounted and helped me down from my horse, but didn’t let me go. He held me close, inhaling the scent of my hair as he slid his hand between us to press his palm against my belly. The
baby obliged him by giving a swift kick that startled us both. I didn’t say anything; Hugo knew what I was feeling and understood my unease.

  “I will be back in roughly a week,” he said as he took my face between his hands and planted a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Two at most. During that time, you will not worry, understand? You will rest, enjoy the fresh air, and spend time with Frances.”

  “What if something happens to you? What if you get arrested?”

  Being out in the open was vastly different than hiding in plain sight in London. There, Hugo was just one person among the multitudes, but riding with Archie down country roads where two wagons in one hour could be construed as heavy traffic was far more dangerous. This was Surrey, a place where Hugo was born and grew up. There were people who might recognize him, even if the possibility was remote.

  “I will do nothing to put myself in danger; you know that. I will be back. But if anything changes, I will send Archie back here for you. Agreed?”

  “No, not agreed. I want Archie by your side at all times. I will wait patiently, I promise. Just stay safe.”

  Hugo kissed me soundly, turned me around, and gave me a pat on the bum. “Now go.”

  Hugo would stay behind with the horses, his altered appearance not something he wished to explain to the nuns, while Archie escorted me to the convent. Archie banged on the thick door until the tiny window opened up, and the anxious face of an elderly nun appeared behind the grille. She nodded in recognition and opened the door, ushering us inside.

  “Good day to you,” the nun said, smiling up at me. She was so tiny and withered that I had to almost bend down to hear her. Her face reminded me of a baked apple, all brown and wrinkly. I was sorry to say that I couldn’t recall her name, although I must have met her the last time I was here. “I must admit, I never expected to see you two again,” the nun said as she waited for us to explain our unexpected presence.

  “We’d like to see Mother Superior, please,” Archie asked politely as he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I could see his eyes darting around from building to building searching for Sister Julia, but she was nowhere in sight. The compound looked much as I remembered, with wooden buildings clustered around the yard where the well held pride of place. Animals lowed in the barn, and the smell of something savory emanated from the kitchen behind the communal dining hall. I noticed several sisters emerging from the small shed where the laundry was done. They were red in the face from the steam; their habits damp down the front. It was laundry day.

  A young nun I’d met on my previous visit gave us a huge smile of welcome as she hoisted a bucket of water out of the well and carried it carefully toward the kitchen. Otherwise, no one paid us any mind as the nun led us toward the tiny cell which served as the office of Mother Superior. We had come well before midday to make sure the nuns were not at prayer when we arrived. They would have been finished with Terce, the midmorning prayer, and at work until Sext, the midday prayer after which they’d sit down to their dinner. It would have been disrespectful to disturb them during prayer or their meal, so Hugo timed our arrival carefully.

  “Master Hicks, Mistress Ashley, what a surprise to see you back with us. Have you come for Frances?” she asked, lines of concern appearing on her face. I noticed that she didn’t say “Sister Frances,” which was a surprise, but decided not to ask. Something must have happened since we left Frances here in April to make the Mother Superior appear so taken aback, but her face relaxed into a smile, and I decided that her reaction was probably just one of surprise, not worry.

  “No, Mother,” Archie replied as he kneaded his hat in his hands. “Lord Everly asks that you give his lady sanctuary while he goes on an errand that involves some danger. We shouldn’t be gone more than a week or two, if that’s all right,” he added lamely.

  Mother Superior noted my rounded belly and lack of wedding ring, but didn’t say anything. Hugo had made a generous donation to the convent’s coffers, so to appear judgmental would not have been polite, although I couldn’t tell if she was displeased or not to have me there. Her face was unreadable, which was probably a good thing for a woman in her position, but I suddenly felt a wave of apprehension.

  “You are always welcome here, child. Please convey my regards to Lord Everly, Master Hicks, and tell him that we will look after Mistress Ashley as if she were one of our own. He needn’t worry about her safety or that of his unborn child. Now, I expect you’d like to see Sister Julia before you leave.”

  “Yes, please. I would be most grateful.”

  “Master Hicks, follow me, and Mistress Ashley, why don’t you go see Sister Angela. She’ll be pleased to see you again.”

  I supposed that what Mother Superior was really saying was that Sister Angela would examine me to see if my pregnancy was progressing normally, but I didn’t mind. I trusted Sister Angela after she took such gentle care of Frances and Jem, and I was more than happy to have someone with medical knowledge reassure me that everything was going well after my ordeal.

  “We will be back soon,” Archie said as he took my hands in farewell. “I will take good care of him. You have my word.”

  “I know, Archie. And thank you again for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “There’s no need for thanks. You are my mistress now, and you have my fealty.” Archie gave me a deferential bow and followed Mother Superior outside. Somehow knowing that Archie was on my side made me feel better.

  Chapter 25

  The tailor positioned the cheval glass so that the light from the window fell just on the spot before the glass, illuminating the area like a stage. His hands shook slightly as he carefully unfolded the garment and laid it on the bed, hoping against hope that his client would like it, pay, and leave him in peace. Lionel Finch was a most difficult customer, his temper legendary among those who knew him. Normally, he had his clothes made in London, but he hadn’t been to town since the spring and had summoned the tailor a few weeks ago most urgently.

  There was much speculation in the surrounding area about the disappearance of Finch’s wife. Rumors had reached far and wide about what had happened at the manor house in April, and there were those who quietly said that they were happy for the poor girl to have escaped the clutches of that monster. Lionel Finch had quickly recovered from the physical assault, but his pride was not as easily mended. He’d been more difficult than ever, punishing the servants and tenants on his estate for the slightest transgression, and using his fists on anyone who so much as dared to look at him for a second too long or answer to back.

  Joseph Caxton had made several garments for Finch in the past, and hoped never to do so again, but couldn’t refuse the summons. His shop was on Finch land, and everyone knew that Lionel Finch was a vengeful man. The tailor brushed an invisible speck from the lapel of the coat and waited patiently for his client to arrive, growing more nervous by the moment. He was an elderly man and didn’t have a young man’s courage to stand up to such a tyrant. He squared his shoulders as Lionel Finch finally strode into the room, but forced himself to relax, his shoulders slumping in a gesture of submission and servitude.

  “Ah, Master Caxton,” Lionel Finch said, rubbing his hands with what appeared to be excitement. “Show me the garment.”

  The tailor lifted the coat off the bed and carefully held it out as Lionel Finch slid his arms into the sleeves. He adjusted the fit and preened in front of the looking glass, turning this way and that, but not saying a word. Joseph Caxton found that he was holding his breath as he watched Finch discreetly, so as not to offend, and praying that he was satisfied.

  “You have outdone yourself, Master Caxton,” Lionel Finch said, surprising the old man. “This is a splendid coat, just as I hoped it would be. I’ll ask you to add some gold braid to the cuffs, but otherwise, I will declare myself satisfied.”

  The tailor felt that there was enough trim on the already overly embellished coat, but he simply bowed and agreed. “I’m happy to see that you like the coat,
sir,” he said in his most agreeable tone.

  “Oh, yes,” Lionel Finch said, almost as if speaking to himself. He seemed to forget that Caxton was even in the room. “I will have a new coat for the trial, and a new wig. I might not have a title, but I will show those titled popinjays that I’m no worse than they are. Why, I have the money to buy them all twice over. And, my testimony will send that villainous bastard straight to the execution block. He’ll get what’s coming to him, make no mistake,” Finch said with great satisfaction. He practically glowed as he shrugged off the coat and passed it back to Joseph Caxton.

  “Yes, Master Finch, he certainly shall,” the tailor replied as he prepared to leave, but Finch wasn’t finished.

  “Well, off with you,” Finch sneered, waving a hand in dismissal. “Have the coat back to me by tomorrow. I have no doubt that the summons will come any day now, and I must be ready.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Caxton replied, bowing despite his aching back. He scampered from the room, eager to be gone. He was amazed by Finch’s good mood and happy to have been dismissed when he remembered that he hadn’t been paid. Joseph Caxton sighed, hoping Finch would pay him tomorrow. For someone as rich as he claimed to be, he was known for being overly tightfisted with his money.

  Lionel Finch remained in front of the mirror, the smile now gone. Oh yes, he would have a fine new coat, a coat to rival that of the king himself. Lionel Finch spat on the floor at the thought of the king. The king was a useless, spineless puppet of Rome; a sniveling sycophant not worthy of the throne of England. Given the chance he’d bring the Inquisition upon them all, with heretics burning in every square like Roman candles and suspects subjected to thumbscrews and the rack. Wasn’t that what those heathens did to good, God-fearing Protestants like himself? Lionel had wholeheartedly supported Monmouth’s claim and would have been happy to see him on the throne, instead of his brainless uncle.