Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  A hush fell over the room as Jeffreys glared at the audience, daring anyone to contradict him. The other two judges nodded once again, and Gideon Warburton momentarily sank deeper into his seat, but forced himself into action in a last attempt to save his client.

  “Master Jeffreys, if I might have a word in private, sir, before you pronounce the verdict,” Gideon Warburton muttered, giving Jeffreys an imploring look. Jeffreys sneered at the little man, but appeared to consider the request and motioned Warburton to join him in the side chamber.

  “A five-minute recess,” he called out as he disappeared through the door.

  Max stared around the room uncomprehendingly. How was it possible that their well-prepared defense fell apart in a matter of minutes? Why had that woman lied when she clearly knew he wasn’t her brother? Did everyone in this damn century have an agenda? Max felt his knees give way as he realized the magnitude of what had just occurred. He was absolutely helpless and at the mercy of the Crown; a Crown that had executed nearly everyone associated with the rebellion. He’d truly believed that he had a chance of proving his innocence, but Jeffreys’ mind had been made up long before he took his seat at the table. Max had been doomed from the start, and no amount of evidence could have made any difference to the outcome of the trial. Max tried to force himself upright, but his knees felt like water, and his stomach was seized with cramp. He could barely see through the haze of tears, which threatened to overwhelm him as his legs buckled.

  The guards came forth and held Max up as Jeffreys and Warburton returned to the room and took their places. Neither face betrayed anything, but there seemed to be a slight shift in Jeffreys’ belligerence, a satisfied gleam in his narrowed eyes as he took his seat and gazed around the room. The murmuring and shuffling of a few moments before now turned to dead silence, everyone waiting to hear the fate of the accused. Jeffreys didn’t bother to consult with the other two judges; they appeared to be purely ornamental since the final verdict clearly rested with him. He took a deep breath before splaying his hands on the table, as if wrestling with a difficult decision, then finally spoke.

  “I have considered the verdict most carefully, and although my initial instinct had been to sentence the accused to death by beheading, I have decided to be merciful. Hugo Everly did not physically participate in the rebellion, but merely incited it, which is still treason, but not on the same scale as taking up arms against the king. Therefore, I sentence Lord Hugo Everly to transportation to the West Indies, to be sold into indenture for a period of seven years. It will be considered unlawful for anyone to try to purchase Lord Everly’s freedom before such a time and an affront to the Crown. Arrangements will be made for transport. Good day to you all.”

  Jeffreys rose to his feet, followed by the other two judges, who hadn’t so much as uttered a word. Everyone shuffled from the room, a buzz of conversation flowing over Max as he was hauled from the room and back to his cell. His mind was numb, but the words “beheading” and “indenture” were spinning in strange concentric circles, making him feel nauseous and lightheaded. He collapsed onto his cot as soon as the fetters were removed, but immediately rolled to the side and threw up into the chamber pot, emptying his already empty stomach as dry heaves wracked his body. He couldn’t even begin to understand what had just happened, but the reality of his situation was beginning to dawn on him, making him shake violently as he continued to retch, his insides turning themselves inside out until his stomach muscles began to spasm, leaving him gasping for air.

  **

  Bradford Nash walked through the gate of the outer wall, his mind in a whirl. Jane had disappeared as soon as the proceedings were over for fear that Brad would confront her about her testimony, but he couldn’t honestly say he was surprised. After what she’d planned for Neve, it stood to reason that she had an agenda of her own. He supposed the fact that Max wouldn’t be executed should be considered a triumph, but he felt hollow inside, knowing full well that the man was innocent.

  Seven years of indentured labor in the West Indies. What were the chances he’d actually survive? His death would be a fitting punishment in the eyes of the law, and would pave the way for Clarence Hiddleston to inherit, which is precisely what Jane wanted. Brad suddenly felt an overwhelming hatred toward the woman he’d known nearly his whole life. He hoped that Jane would get what was coming to her, and if God were truly just, she would.

  Brad pushed his way through the crowd outside, hardly conscious of the mob demanding to know the outcome of the trial, and cursing with disappointment when they heard that there was to be no public execution. Brad barely noticed as a dirty ragamuffin catapulted from between the legs of two burly men and threw himself at him, wrapping his scrawny arms around his legs. Brad looked down in annoyance, his hand already reaching for a coin to toss to the urchin, but was suddenly distracted.

  Chapter 45

  “Transport to the West Indies,” Archie announced as he burst into the room. “Commuted from beheading after a closeted meeting with Master Warburton.”

  “What’s the mood like downstairs?” Hugo asked, his head bent as he processed the news that Archie had just delivered.

  “Vehement outrage,” Archie replied. “The masses feel that he— you… got off lightly. They were hoping for a nice, public execution to fuel their bloodlust.” Archie looked utterly indignant as he imparted the news, but was disappointed when Hugo didn’t seem to share his anger.

  “As expected then,” Hugo quipped as he sank into a chair and crossed his feet at the ankles, completely unperturbed, which I found to be surprising given his devotion to providing Max with the best defense and campaigning for his release.

  “You don’t seem particularly upset,” I remarked, watching him from across the room, my expression probably mirroring Archie’s grimace of confusion.

  “I’m not. I’ve done everything in my power to save Max from being executed. I can only assume that the reduction in sentence came after a very generous offer from Master Warburton, one I can’t really afford under the circumstances but felt obligated to make nonetheless. I consider my duty to Max Everly to be fulfilled,” Hugo replied, looking from me to Archie in a way that suggested he needed our understanding.

  “What do you think will happen to him?” I asked. “Is there any chance of helping him escape?”

  “Max will be heavily guarded on the way to the port, and on board the ship as well. Any rescue effort would be foolhardy and bound to fail. I hope that he will serve his sentence and find his way back to England, where he can hopefully return to his rightful place,” Hugo added meaningfully. “We must leave as soon as possible to find a ship bound for France. Time is of the essence.”

  “What about Jem?” Archie and I asked in unison.

  “Brad will continue to look for Jem. He will offer a reward for information about his whereabouts. Money always helps people remember what they’d have otherwise conveniently forgotten. Brad will look after him should he be found. Right now, my first priority is getting to France, marrying the very pregnant mother of my child, and making contact with friends abroad who can help pave our way into the court of Louis XIV. Do you feel this to be the wrong course of action?” Hugo asked, watching me with narrowed eyes.

  “Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting this particular outcome, I suppose. I hoped Max would be set free.” My hopes had been naïve, given the gravity of the charge, but somewhere in the back of my mind I believed that Max would be able to return home.

  “That was never really an option,” Hugo replied as he rose to his feet and folded me into his embrace. “This is the best outcome we could have hoped for. Now, why don’t we get some good brandy to celebrate and begin to make plans for our departure?”

  I abstained from the brandy, but did have a cup of cider to celebrate this “win,” if that’s what it was. I could completely understand Hugo’s point of view, but I did feel sorry for Max. He was a spoiled, pampered scion of a wealthy, titled family. He’d never surviv
e on some sugar plantation, working fourteen-hour days in extreme heat and poor conditions. I admit that I’d initially felt very angry and wanted to leave him to his fate, but the more gullible part of me wished that we could help him somehow.

  “Let it be,” Hugo said to me, putting his warm hand over mine. “There’s nothing more we can do for him.”

  “I know,” I sighed.

  Hugo stiffened when there was a loud knock on the door. He reached for his dagger while Archie opened the door a crack to see who’d come calling.

  “Message for Master Tully, sir,” a young girl announced, handing over a square of paper sealed with a blob of wax.

  “From Bradford Nash,” Archie said, examining the seal and handing the note to Hugo. Hugo broke the seal and unfolded the note, quickly scanning the few sentences scribbled on the sheet, his expression changing from curiosity to surprise.

  “Well, what does it say?” I asked, trying to see over his shoulder.

  “It says to come at once to the Black Dog Tavern in Cheapside. And to come alone.”

  “Could this be a trap?” Archie asked as he took the note from Hugo and looked closely at the imprint of the seal.

  “No, that’s Brad’s stamp on the seal. It’s from him; I’m sure of it. Neve, stay here. Archie, follow me at a safe distance just in case. I don’t like the sound of this,” Hugo said as he finished his brandy and slammed the cup down on the table with more force than he intended.

  Hugo strapped on his sword, pulled his hat low over his eyes and gave me a quick kiss before disappearing through the door, followed by Archie. I was left to wait and fret once again, an occupation I was getting used to. I locked the door behind them and settled near the window with my sewing. I could mend things, sew on buttons and darn socks, but actual sewing was a bit of a challenge. I thought I might try sewing a gown for the baby. How difficult could it be to make a sack-like garment with an opening for the head, the legs and something resembling sleeves? Clearly more difficult than I imagined since I’d probably have to twist the baby’s arms to get them into the too-narrow sleeves that appeared to be at the wrong angle. I ripped out the seams and tried to figure out how to make the openings for the arms bigger without ruining the rest of the gown.

  As I battled with the tiny garment, my mind whirred like a crazed bumblebee, imagining all kinds of scenarios which would induce Brad to send such an urgent message. Clearly, going to his house wasn’t safe, so what was so important that they had to meet in some flea-infested tavern in Cheapside? Part of me was very worried, but part of me reasoned that Brad would never do anything to put Hugo in danger. Whatever it was had something to do with the trial, or perhaps Jane’s arrival in town.

  I finally gave up on the gown and stretched out on the bed, suddenly exhausted. My last thought as my eyes fluttered closed was of a tropical beach in the Caribbean where indentured servants were sold at auction to burly, sweating plantation owners, who eyed the merchandise and poked them with riding crops.

  Chapter 46

  Lionel Finch tore off his new coat and threw it across the bed as he poured himself a generous measure of wine. He wanted to smash something, but there was nothing worth breaking that would give him any satisfaction. Instead, he drove his fist into the wall. He yelped with pain as the plaster gave way and his fist sank into the hole, making him lose his balance and smack his head against the wall. He righted himself, pulled his arm out of the hole, and sank onto the bed, suddenly tired.

  The whole morning had been a disaster from beginning to end. He’d stepped into a pile of horse shit on his way to the trial, got a tear in his breeches when they snagged on a protruding nail, and then got a lecture from that high-handed imbecile of a judge about his lack of husbandly guidance and discipline. Jeffreys had thoroughly humiliated him in front of the entire assembly, not only turning him into a laughing stock, but utterly dismissing the charges against Everly. He could have ordered some recompense, but instead, he made him look like a complete fool and a possible cuckold, by implying that his wife left with another man of her own free will. Lionel Finch had been the injured party in all this, but now he was made to look like a buffoon in the eyes of London society. The popinjays at Court would have a good laugh at his expense, of that he was certain.

  The verdict had been a surprise as well. Lionel had decided to testify against the impostor on trial, and an impostor he was, to serve his own ends. The man physically resembled Hugo Everly, but the likeness ended there. Hugo wouldn’t have permitted himself to nearly faint; he was strong and proud, not a sniveling weakling like the one in the dock. The two men were very different; anyone who cared to look would see that at once, which made Jane Hiddleston’s testimony that much more puzzling. Seemed the comely Mistress Hiddleston had an agenda of her own. Perhaps her brother had wronged her somehow, but enough to want to see him dead? It was hard to fathom. Lionel would gladly pay a coin or two to find out that story, if only for his personal entertainment. This morning’s performance had been better than the theater, particularly for those who had nothing to lose either way.

  Yes, beheading would have suited Lionel’s needs very well. It would ensure that Hugo Everly could never go back to his former life. He’d be Lord Everly no more, for how could he prove his identity after supposedly being executed for treason? It would all have worked out very nicely had that pig-faced poltroon, Gideon Warburton, not intervened. Must have offered a hefty bribe to get the sentence commuted. Lionel couldn’t help wondering who’d financed that maneuver.

  Still, the plan was in place, and everything was at the ready. All he needed was the word from Harvey that Hugo was on the move. Lionel put aside his injured pride, and smiled to himself as he pictured the coming encounter. Hugo Everly was a dead man.

  Chapter 47

  It was well past 3 p.m. by the time Hugo reached Cheapside. Ordinarily, it would still be light outside, but the dreary weather and miserable drizzle left the narrow streets and alleys dark and slick with moisture. Thick clouds blanketed the autumn sky and seemed to float right above the rooftops, giving the impression that the sky was falling down. Candlelight spilled from most windows despite the early hour, the shutters firmly closed on others to keep out the wind and rain.

  There were a few people about, but most tended to stay indoors if they could afford to; it was too raw and wet to be out. Hugo had no trouble finding the tavern; a peeling sign of a ferocious-looking black dog swung in the wind with a creak that could raise the dead. The taproom was nearly empty; a few old-timers nursing their tankards of ale rather than heading out into the cold. The dinner crowd had departed; the news of the trial already grown stale as people’s attention shifted to other things.

  Hugo looked around the pub, not noticing Brad sitting in a dark corner at first, but going to join him when he heard himself addressed as “Master Tully.” Brad was leaning against the dark paneling of the wall, an empty mug in front of him, his face a study in pensiveness.

  “What is it?” Hugo asked as he took in Brad’s mystifying appearance. Brad gestured toward a chair across from him and signaled for the barmaid to bring a tankard of ale for Hugo.

  “Hugo, I have good news and bad,” he began once the wench slammed the tankard in front of Hugo and another in front of Brad, giving them both a sour look.

  “I’ll take the bad first.”

  “Jane’s testimony was most damaging. She knew perfectly well that Max wasn’t you. She said as much to him when she met him, but she went on to swear under oath that Max Everly was indeed her brother, knowing that he would most likely be executed. It’s bad enough what she tried to do to Neve, but this is an innocent man she’d never met. She seemed to have no qualms about sending him to his death.”

  “I can only assume that she was hoping for the death penalty, which would open the way for Clarence to inherit the title and the estate. Having me deported to the West Indies was not in the cards, but seven years is a long time during which much can happen. I’m sure Jane is v
ery pleased with the day’s work. Now tell me the good news. I’m more than ready for some.” Hugo smiled at Brad, who suddenly looked aglow now that his duty of telling Hugo about Jane was done.

  “Finish your ale and come with me,” Brad said.

  “Won’t you just tell me?”

  “No, you need to see this for yourself,” Brad replied as he drained his tankard and set it down with a bang of satisfaction. He asked for a candle and led Hugo up the narrow stairs to a corridor, which was nearly pitch-black. Brad fumbled for a key and opened the door to a room at the end of the passage, preceding Hugo into the dim interior. An empty plate sat on the scarred table, and water swirled in a basin, the liquid nearly black with dirt and grime. A tiny figure lay huddled on the bed, but Hugo’s heart gave a lurch as he recognized the mop of dark curls.

  “Oh, Brad, is that…?” He nearly choked on the words as Brad nodded happily. “He nearly knocked me off my feet outside the Tower when I left the trial. He’d been waiting for me.”

  Hugo sat on the side of the bed and bent over the sleeping form of Jem, who instantly came awake, sat up, bumped his head on Hugo’s chin, and threw himself into his arms sobbing pitifully.

  “I knew it wasn’t true,” he mumbled into Hugo’s chest as his thin arms held on for dear life. “I knew it wasn’t true.”

  “What wasn’t true?” Hugo asked gently.

  “Mistress Hiddleston said you bid her to sell me to a brothel since I was a useless burden, and the money would go to pay for what you’d spent on me already. She kept saying it, but I knew it couldn’t be true.”

  “Of course it’s not true. Oh, Jem, I’m so happy to see you, my little lad. Are you all right?” Hugo held Jem away from himself and examined him by the feeble light of the guttering candle. Jem looked much thinner than he’d been, his hair greasy, and his clothes nearly in shreds, but his face and hands were clean and his eyes shone with such happiness that Hugo was nearly brought to tears.