He had to admit that Everly had actually done him a favor. Had he not come barging into his bedchamber that night, Lionel might have contributed to Monmouth’s cause. He’d have been accused of treason, and gone to trial with the rest of those unfortunates who were now either dead or deported. Good men, all of them, especially the Duke of Monmouth. Now England had no hope, no future. If that Catholic poltroon had a son that’d be the end for all of them; with a Catholic succession assured England would be lost.
The thought of sons reminded Lionel Finch of his own childless state and Hugo Everly’s part in the abduction of his wife. The memory made him seethe with anger, his guts burning with humiliation. Everyone knew that Frances had left him, and they were all sniggering behind his back, and calling him weak for not being able to control a slip of a girl, that stupid cow. He’d see Everly punished for what he’d done, punished to the highest degree the law would allow. Finch smiled at the pleasant fantasy he so often had of watching Hugo Everly hanged, drawn, and quartered. What a joy it would be to watch him suffer as he died inch by inch, his body mutilated before his very eyes, his severed cock tossed on the fire.
Finch knew that most likely he’d have to content himself with a beheading, but that was nearly as satisfying. He would stand right in front of the platform, his eyes on Everly’s face, smiling as the executioner swung the ax. Lionel Finch would be the last thing Everly saw before his life was extinguished, and then he would see to his mistress. Oh, what a pleasure it would be to spend an evening with her. By the time he’d be done, she’ll wish she were dead. No one would want her ever again, not after he was finished. She would beg and plead for him not to hurt her anymore, and tell him where to find Frances. Of course, he could petition for divorce on the grounds of abandonment, but he wasn’t quite ready to divorce the little strumpet. She was his property, his chattel, and he would deal with her as he saw fit before he got rid of her for good. Oh, how she would pay!
The thought of what he would do to Frances once he found her was enough to arouse him, so Finch unlaced his breeches and went to work, panting as he envisioned the scene in his mind. It was a fantasy he’d had many times, but it never failed to turn him on. He watched himself in the mirror as he pleasured himself, the image arousing him further.
Chapter 26
The convent looked much as it had when we visited in April, and after the heaving, overly populated, noisy vastness of London, the enclosed compound made me feel rather claustrophobic. I steeled my nerves against the feeling of panic and reminded myself that it was only for a week or two. Not being part of the order, I wouldn’t be expected to participate in the routine of the nuns or attend the prayers, but perhaps I could offer assistance with some chores to show my appreciation of their hospitality and to help pass the time.
I made my way past the barn and the well in the center of the yard, avoiding a muddy puddle that still hadn’t dried since it rained a few days ago, toward Sister Angela’s sanctuary. A pleasant smell of dried herbs greeted me as I knocked on the open door and poked my head into the little hut. A merry fire burned in the grate, making the hut appear welcoming and cozy. Sister Angela’s face broke into a grin of welcome as she ushered me in, putting aside the pungent mixture she’d been mixing in her mortar. I sniffed experimentally but couldn’t quite place the smell, although it reminded me of something.
“Mistress Ashley, what a surprise,” Sister Angela exclaimed as she wiped her reddened hands on her apron and motioned me toward the bench by the wall. “What brings you to us this time?”
“I’m afraid Lord Everly had a rather dangerous errand to run and felt that I would be safer here, especially in my condition.”
Sister Angela’s gaze traveled over my generous bosom and rounded belly, straight toward my hand which bore no wedding ring. I could see momentary disapproval in her blue eyes, but she quickly rearranged her features into a bland expression and congratulated me. “Is the pregnancy progressing smoothly?” she asked as she studied my features. “This is your first, is it not?”
“This is my second pregnancy; I miscarried some time ago,” I replied, not wanting to go into further detail. Thankfully, Sister Angela didn’t ask any prying questions regarding the first baby and its parentage.
“Well, you look very well, my dear, I’m happy to say. How far along are you?”
“Close to five months,” I replied, my hand going involuntarily to my belly as I caressed the child within. “I’d like to make sure the child is all right.” I tried to sound calm, but there was a slight note of hysteria in my voice. I was terribly scared that something was wrong despite the vigorous kicks of my little tenant.
“Well, let’s have a look, shall we? Do you have any reason to believe that it isn’t all right?” she asked carefully as she beckoned me to the other room and indicated that I should lie down on the cot. “If you are nearly five months along you should feel the child moving by now,” she added carefully.
“Yes, it’s moving. Some kicks are rather painful actually, but I lost the first one…,” I muttered, suddenly very nervous.
“Come now, my dear; just because you lost one child doesn’t mean you’ll lose the next,” Sister Angela said in a soothing tone. “Sometimes God and nature have their own reasons for terminating a pregnancy. You mustn’t fret; it’s not good for the child. Why don’t you just relax and I’ll take a look? I don’t have much call for my midwifery skills these days, but some things one never forgets.”
I reclined on the cot and tried to breathe evenly as Sister Angela palpated my stomach gently and let out a whoop of surprise when the baby kicked against her palm. She checked my pulse, nodding in satisfaction all the while, then reached for a long wooden tube and held it to my belly as she listened carefully, her eyes closed.
“The heartbeat sounds good and strong, and the child is active. I’d say that everything is progressing as it should. There’s no reason for concern.” I just nodded in relief, happy to hear that everything was truly well.
“Your pulse is steady, but you are a trifle pale. Perhaps after the filth of London you can benefit from some fresh country air, peace and quiet, and wholesome food. Lord Everly did right to bring you here.” Sister Angela gave me a hand to help me up and smiled at me gently. “And there’s someone who’ll be very glad to see you again.”
“How is Frances?” I inquired as I got to my feet and smoothed down my skirt. I hadn’t seen her as I walked through the compound.
“Oh, well enough, under the circumstances,” Sister Angela replied, rolling her eyes. I assumed that Sister Angela was referring to the fact that Frances came to the convent to escape an abusive husband and a miserable marriage, but she had a look about her I couldn’t quite read. “Frances will be in the kitchen this time of day. She likes baking, so Mother Superior put her to work making fresh bread for our evening meal. Frances helps me here in the mornings. She likes learning about the various uses of the plants. I must say that she has a natural aptitude for herbology. Perhaps she can take over for me one day — if she stays.”
I was somewhat surprised by that statement. Frances had expressed her desire to join the convent, so I just assumed that she would remain with the nuns. However, six months had passed, during which Frances might have changed her mind. She’d been injured and terribly frightened when we brought her here in the spring; the isolation and peace must have seemed like a godsend to her at the time. Being fourteen, however, she was too young to sign her life away, no matter what tragedies had befallen her in the past. Perhaps she’d had a change of heart and would, at some point, be ready to go out into the world again.
I actually hoped she might. I had nothing against religion as a whole, but being a person reared in modern times, I couldn’t easily accept the notion of someone just giving up their life and hiding behind walls;particularly if their decision was influenced more by fear rather than true faith. Sister Angela looked very content with her lot, as did most of the other sisters, but I’d noticed
something in Sister Julia that I had also seen in Frances— resignation and defeat, not peace and acceptance.
“I’ll go find her,” I said as Sister Angela returned to grinding her compound. “And thank you for reassuring me.”
“You are most welcome,” Sister Angela replied with her back to me.
I made my way back to the communal dining hall and toward the kitchens at the back. The long table in the hall was already set; wooden bowls, spoons, and pewter cups awaiting the nuns who would come to eat after prayer. An open Bible rested on the pulpit, ready for whoever was doing the reading today. The midday meal was in about an hour and a half, and the sisters were busy cooking, the kitchen filled with a haze from the oven that dissipated as the fresh air blew in through the open door.
An appetizing smell of fresh bread and cooked vegetables wafted toward me, reminding me that I was hungry, as usual. Sister Gregoria was stirring a large cauldron that simmered over the hearth, and Frances kneaded dough at the table, her cheek covered with a smear of flour. She let out a squeal of joy as she saw me and came flying around the table, nearly knocking me off my feet as she threw herself into my arms.
I had only a few seconds to register several facts: Frances was not wearing the black habit of the order or a wimple, nor was she as thin as she’d been when we brought her to the convent nearly six months ago. She wore a loose gray smock, which did nothing to drab down her angelic appearance, and a kerchief tied about her fair hair. I held her at arm’s length, studying her round blue eyes and the bouncing blonde ringlets that escaped the confinement of the kerchief.
“Go on, have a word with your friend,” Sister Gregoria offered with a kind smile. “I’ll finish the loaves.”
Frances grabbed me by the arm and dragged me outside, straight to the herb and vegetable garden behind the kitchens. It smelled pleasantly of growing things and warm earth, the sound of a droning bee lazily circling a plant making the place appear even more peaceful than it already did. There was a wooden bench near the wall, and we took a seat, turning our faces to the weak October sunshine.
“Frances, you look well, but I thought you might have joined the order by now, as a postulate perhaps. Wasn’t that your wish?” I was actually glad to see that Frances hadn’t taken her vows. She still had time to change her mind.
“I wanted to,” Frances replied, giving me a rueful smile. “Mother Superior was giving me instruction, but then things changed.”
“In what way?”
Frances took my hand and laid it on her belly. I hadn’t noticed it under the loose garment, but now that she pointed it out I could feel the swell of advanced pregnancy under the smock. The child moved deep inside, turning and rolling against my palm like a large fish in a pond, causing ripples on the surface.
“Oh, Frances,” I breathed. Would this poor girl never be free of her husband? In this day and age, leaving a marriage was difficult enough, but to have a child at fourteen without any means of support or family to rely on was practically suicide. I couldn’t imagine that the nuns would turn Frances away, but with the change in situation, her options were now altered as well. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just took Frances’s hand and held it silently.
“It seems Lionel got the last laugh after all,” she stated calmly. “I couldn’t stop crying when Sister Angela told me I was with child. I begged her to give me something so that I might be rid of it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Said it was going against God to kill a child, especially one that managed to survive the horrible beating he’d given me that last night. This baby is a fighter, to be sure.”
“When is it due?” I asked carefully.
“About two months. Just after my fifteenth birthday. I’m not looking forward to that, I can tell you.” I could understand the girl’s fear. Her own mother had died in childbirth, and she had been much older and had already borne a child before Frances. Frances was hardly more than a child herself, her body still that of a pre-pubescent girl despite the noticeable weight gain. Frances laid her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. I wrapped my arm around her, and we sat in silence for some time, each one lost in her own thoughts. I had some questions regarding the future of this child, but didn’t want to upset Frances. She looked so young and innocent as she leaned against me, her rounded cheeks reminiscent of a baby, not a woman who was about to become a mother.
“Sister Angela has taken good care of me,” Frances suddenly said as she opened her eyes and smiled at me. “She says she’ll help me through the birth, but that’s not what I’m worried about, not really.”
“No? What are you worried about?” I thought that statement was just bravado, but Frances seemed surprisingly serene as she reached for my hand.
“Whether I survive the birth or not is in God’s hands, but what I choose to do after is in mine, and I just can’t face the decision. I’ve discussed the choices with Mother Superior, and she has been very kind and supportive, but ultimately, the final decision rests with me.”
“What choices are there?” I asked, wondering what Frances was referring to.
“If the child is a girl, I can just keep her here with me, although I wouldn’t be allowed to take my vows. I would be permitted to stay, for several years at least until I decided what to do. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to stay indefinitely, and no child should grow up shut away from the world. What kind of a life would that be?”
From what Frances had shared with me, I knew she’d had a lonely childhood. Her father had no interest in her; her brother used her as a butt of his cruel jokes, and the only person who showed her any affection had been her nurse who was eventually dismissed, being no longer useful in her father’s eyes. Frances had been married off at thirteen, and kept a virtual prisoner by her husband, who forbade her to leave the grounds, probably out of fear that she might befriend other women or catch the eye of some young man. She was so lovely that it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that she would find love outside her marriage, something Lionel Finch would never allow.
“But if the child is a boy,” Frances continued, “I would be keeping him from his inheritance. A son of Lionel Finch would be entitled to a vast estate and great wealth, but only if I take the child back to its father.”
Frances didn’t need to elaborate. I knew what taking the child back to Lionel Finch would entail. Not only would Frances be putting her own life in danger, but that of the child as well. I couldn’t imagine that Lionel would welcome Frances back with open arms. He’d abused her viciously on a regular basis. What would he do to punish her for the humiliation she’d caused him by leaving? He might want the child, but I doubted he’d want the mother. It was a known fact that Lionel Finch enjoyed very young girls, girls even younger than Frances. He’d lost interest in her once she reached puberty and took out his frustration by beating her savagely, an act that empowered him and made it possible for him to get an erection. What would prevent him from killing her or abusing the child as a means of punishing Frances?
“Are you actually considering it?” I gasped.
Frances shook her head in dismay. “I can’t go back to that man. He’ll kill me for what I’ve done, but do I dare deny my son what’s rightfully his? I would be condemning him to a life of poverty and insignificance. Lord Everly has left some money for me with Mother Superior, but how long will that money last? A few years perhaps, and the only way I could give my son any kind of future is if I provide him with an education or an apprenticeship of some kind.”
What Frances wasn’t saying was that the most logical option to her dilemma wasn’t open to her. Most seventeenth-century women who’d been left on their own remarried within a short time, unless they had independent means of support, which was rare. Women like Jane had the option of staying single since they were handsomely provided for, but average women needed the support and protection of a man. Of course, Frances couldn’t remarry as long as her husband was still alive, and I didn’t imagine that she would find that particular soluti
on very appealing. She’d never known kind, caring men, so the idea of putting herself at the mercy of some man yet again would be terrifying. Even if she chose to return to her father’s house, she would be promptly delivered back to her husband, so she was truly on her own, with no one to turn to.
“Frances, I can’t tell you what to do, but you must put your safety and that of your child before any other consideration. No amount of money will compensate a child for being beaten and abused.” I drew Frances close to me as she sighed dramatically.
“I know, Mistress Ashley, hence the conundrum.”
“What does Mother Superior say on the subject?” I asked, hoping the older woman would talk some sense into the girl.
“She doesn’t. She says that the decision is mine to make, and that I should make it wisely. Besides, a male child would not be welcome at the convent past infancy. I would have to give him up or leave the convent and brave the world outside. And who would want him? Most people can barely clothe and feed their own children. Why would they want to take in mine, unless I was able to pay them for his keep?”
I could understand France’s anguish. Life had not dealt her a very fair hand, and although she was being admirably stoic, I could tell that she was barely holding it together. What a decision to make for a fourteen-year-old girl who had suffered more abuse in her short life than most people could even imagine.
Frances suddenly sat up straighter and turned to face me, her eyes full of hope. “Perhaps I can go with you,” she whispered. I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t bring myself to squash her hopes, not when she was so desperate.
“Perhaps,” I said, knowing that I wasn’t being truthful.
Chapter 27
A gentle wind moved through the trees, carrying with it the smell of hay, pine needles, and the tang of decomposing leaves. Fall had come to Kent, and the riotous colors of autumn, which were so breathtaking during the day, were nothing more than dark shadows overhead as Hugo leaned against the trunk of a tree and watched Three Oaks from his vantage point. The house had been named after the ancient trees that grew along the drive, their massive branches intertwining overhead and forming a tunnel that was striped with shafts of sunlight on fine days and blocked out the rain on inclement ones.
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