Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  Sister Julia squeezed Frances’s hand, smiling sadly. They shared a bond that women who’d never lost a child could ever understand. “It gets easier,” Sister Julia said, “but it never goes away. He’ll stay with you forever, but I’m not sure that you’d want it otherwise.”

  “No, he’ll always be with me, as will the two of you. Thank you,” Frances said as she smiled at the two women. “I will never forget you.”

  “Go with God, Frances, and give our regards to Mistress Ashley.”

  Archie was already outside, stuffing her sack into the saddlebag. There was only one horse. Frances tried to bite back her panic, but her only option was to remain at the convent, and she’d be damned if she chose to stay in this sad, desolate place. Frances took a deep, calming breath and approached Archie carefully.

  “I’d like to ride side-saddle, please,” she said, praying that Archie wouldn’t ask for an explanation. She was still bleeding after the birth, and to sit astride would make it difficult to keep the thick rag between her legs in place. She would feel more comfortable if she could keep her legs pressed together. Archie looked momentarily surprised, but gave her a quick bow. “As you wish.” He grabbed her by the waist and raised her onto the horse before mounting himself. It was very awkward for them both.

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather ride astride?” Archie asked as he shifted in the saddle to give Frances more room.

  “Yes.” He didn’t say anything else, just took hold of the reins as the horse picked its way carefully along the narrow woodland path. Frances turned to wave to the nuns, but they had already shut the gate, leaving her to her fate. She was no longer a part of their orderly life. She strongly suspected that Mother Superior had been glad to see the back of her. She’d brought nothing but problems to the convent, and her pregnancy and Gabriel’s birth had brought back certain memories and longings in the nuns, causing a ripple of discontent which would take some time to quell. They were better off without her.

  Frances sat stiffly, her back straight until they finally reached the road where the horse picked up speed. Her back burned with tension, and her legs felt as if they were sliding off the horse. She held on to the pommel for dear life, praying that she wouldn’t fall off like a sack of grain. Archie was aware of her discomfort, but didn’t say a word. He gazed ahead, his arms loose around Frances. She wished she could lean against him, but she was too afraid of physical contact. Lord Everly and Mistress Ashley trusted Archie, so she had to as well, but her fear was so deeply rooted that she couldn’t find the strength to overcome it. Any male touch sent her into a panic, and she shrank away from Archie, acutely conscious of him next to her. He’d been traveling since yesterday morning and smelled of sweat, horse, leather, and something of his own. It wasn’t a repulsive smell, but it was overwhelmingly male, which made her wary.

  After an hour, Frances thought she would die. Her whole body was on fire from sitting in such an awkward position, and they had hours to travel yet. She shifted in the saddle, dimly aware of Archie’s eyes on her.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me?” Archie asked conversationally.

  “No,” Frances replied stubbornly.

  “So, are you insisting on sitting this way to be ladylike?”

  “No,” she said again, unsure of what to tell him. She couldn’t last this way till Portsmouth; she knew that much.

  “Frances, you have nothing to fear from me,” Archie said firmly. “I would never do anything to hurt you. You would be more comfortable if you would just lean into me.”

  “I can’t,” Frances mumbled, her cheeks turning crimson with embarrassment. “I’m still bleeding after the birth. I can’t sit astride, but my back aches something dreadful.”

  “I see,” Archie replied as he turned off the road onto a narrow track in the woods. The trees whispered above them, the forest filled with sounds of animals and birds and the breaking of twigs beneath the horse’s hooves.

  “Where are you going?” Frances screeched, alarmed.

  “Just off the road where you can get a bit of privacy,” Archie replied. “Don’t worry.”

  They stopped just as soon as the road could no longer be seen through the trees, and Archie dismounted and helped her down. He rummaged in his saddlebag until he pulled out a large linen handkerchief and handed it to Frances.

  “Have you ever seen a baby’s nappy?” he asked. “Tie it just like that. It will keep everything in place.” Frances thought she would die of shame, but she went behind a bush and did as Archie told her before returning to the horse. Archie lifted her up, and she sat astride, feeling her legs relax around the smooth flanks of the animal. Archie sat behind her and gently pulled her to him until she was resting against his chest. Frances resisted at first, but finally allowed herself to get comfortable as they left the woods and got on their way once again.

  Archie didn’t say much, but his presence was comforting and solid behind her. Frances finally began to relax; she even managed to sleep for a while after they stopped at midday to eat at a small tavern. Archie’s idea of the handkerchief had been ingenious, she thought, but she could hardly tell him that. The rag was held firmly in place, giving her freedom of movement. And thankfully, she wasn’t leaking milk anymore. Sister Angela had bound her breasts right after Gabriel died, and the milk had dried up within a few days. Seeing it seep out had been a heartbreaking reminder of the child who wouldn’t need it. It would take a few more weeks for her body to return to normal, according to the old nun, and Frances looked forward to that time. It would make Gabriel’s death a little easier to cope with. As long as her body was still recovering from the birth, she felt the loss very keenly.

  The rest of the ride to Portsmouth had been smooth until it began to grow dark. “The gates will be closed by now,” Archie said. “We should find a place to hole up for the night.”

  “No, we must get to Portsmouth,” Frances whined, panicked. She couldn’t spend a night with Archie — she just couldn’t. She had been acutely aware of his hard prick against her lower back for the past few hours. Archie shifted uncomfortably from time to time as her buttocks ground against him, but continued as if nothing were amiss. Frances had been terrified at first, but he seemed to be ignoring his arousal, so she had as well. But, once they were dismounted and lying side by side, there would be nothing to stop him. She didn’t know much about the appetites of men, but she knew that they rarely denied themselves, especially when there was a woman nearby. She wasn’t willing, but that might not be deterrent enough. She just wanted to be with Neve. Neve was only twelve years older than Frances, but she’d been the closest thing she’d had to a mother since her nursemaid. Neve made her feel cared for and safe.

  “Frances,” Archie said patiently, “the gate is closed, and we cannot get into the city until morning. We must find a place to sleep since I have no intention of just sitting here all night. We passed a barn about a half hour ago. That will do. Now, shall we go?”

  Frances had no choice but to agree. She fretted all the way to the barn, trying to think of a way to sleep on the other side. The barn was relatively large, but cold. Wind blew between the wooden slats, making the inside just as frigid as the outside. Archie saw to the horse while Frances looked around the barn. The dirt floor was covered by bits of straw, but it was moldy and smelly, left over from when the place was still inhabited. There was a hayloft, however, which seemed cozier. Archie carefully stepped on the rungs of the ladder to make sure they weren’t rotten until he made it to the top.

  “Frances, come up here,” he called. “It’s much warmer here and there’s clean straw.” Frances considered sleeping downstairs alone and moved toward the ladder. She’d rather take her chances with Archie than with someone who might enter the barn during the night. Archie was right; the loft was warmer since there wasn’t as much of a draft.

  Archie unfolded an old blanket he brought up and spread it on the straw. He sat down and held out an apple to Frances. “Here, you
must be hungry.”

  “I’m all right; you have it.”

  “I have one for me too,” he said and tossed the apple to her. Frances caught it and bit into it, but remained standing. Archie moved over and cut his eyes at the blanket, inviting her to sit down. Frances reluctantly complied, but kept as much distance between them as she could. She was surprised to see Archie grinning at her in the darkness.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Frances, I will not lie to you and tell you that I’m as pure as driven snow, but I do not routinely force myself on unwilling young maidens. You are quite safe,” he said, still smiling at her.

  “But I felt your…, eh, you know,” she said, blushing hotly.

  “That happens to men, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on it. Just lie down and rest, woman. I will deliver you safely to Lord Everly in the morning.”

  Archie threw away his apple core, stretched out on the blanket and rested his arm over his face. He was asleep in minutes, but it took Frances considerably longer. She wrapped herself in her cloak and tried to sleep, but was too nervous to relax. The horse was snorting below them, and an owl hooted somewhere, but still Frances lay awake. It must have been close to midnight when she finally fell asleep, curled into a fetal position.

  Frances awoke to find herself rather warm and comfortable. She was lying on her side with Archie behind her, his body molded to her, and his arm protectively wrapped around her middle. Her cloak was spread out over the two of them, keeping them warm and snug. Frances grew as rigid as a wooden plank and drove her elbow into Archie’s stomach. He sat up with a surprised yelp of pain, rubbed his face, and smiled at her guiltily when he realized how intimately they’d been lying. There were bits of straw in his hair, copper stubble on his cheeks, and an expression of such sheepishness that Frances had to turn away to keep from smiling.

  “I’m hungry,” he said, dispelling the tension, “but my belly hurts for some reason.” Archie rubbed at the spot where Frances had hit him, his eyebrow raised in mock confusion. Frances suddenly let out a peal of laughter. She’d been such a ninny for fearing Archie. Any other man would have throttled her by now, but Archie was attempting to make jokes to make her feel more at ease rather than giving vent to his temper. Aside from Lord Everly, Archie was the noblest, kindest man she’d ever met, and she had insulted him by doubting his honor.

  “I’m sorry, Archie,” she said as she took hold of his hand in a conciliatory manner and smiled into his eyes.

  “For what? For me being hungry or for my bellyache?” he asked, but he knew what she meant. “Don’t worry yourself about it, little dove. You have every right to be scared, and as long as I’m with you, you have my protection. Now, let’s go find some breakfast and then ride into Portsmouth. We must wait an hour or so till the soil wagons pass out of the city anyhow. The stench is unbearable when they do.”

  Archie shook out the cloak to get rid of some bits of straw sticking to it and draped it over Frances’s shoulders. He gently tucked a stray curl beneath her cap, then lifted her onto the horse before swinging into the saddle behind her. Frances leaned against him with a sigh of contentment as his arms went around her to take hold of the reins. The sun was just rising, the golden haze blurring the harsh lines of the burnt-out cottage and making the dew glitter on grass. The whole world seemed to be new and sparkling, and suddenly Frances felt much lighter than she had in years.

  Chapter 54

  When I awoke in the morning, I was quite alone. I pulled aside the bed hanging and squinted at the unshuttered window. Judging by the position of the sun it had to be well past eight in the morning. Normally, the sounds of the town would have woken me long before, but our room faced the back of the house, and it wasn’t as noisy as it would have been on the other side with wagons rolling down the street, townspeople going about their business, and cargo being loaded or unloaded at the port. I had seen the dark outline of several masts against the evening sky as we rode into town, and prayed that one of those ships might carry us to France.

  Hugo and Jem had gone downstairs to find their breakfast, so I took my time getting ready. I washed, brushed out my hair and pinned it up neatly beneath my cap, then cleaned my teeth before getting dressed. My stomach growled with hunger as I finally left the room and went downstairs. I felt much better, and more at peace. Hugo had known what he was about last night. I blushed at the memory of Jemmy being in the room with us, but then dismissed my concerns. Hugo was right; in this day and age, no one enjoyed the kind of privacy they did in the future, and thanks to the bed hangings, Jem wouldn’t have seen a thing; maybe just heard a moan or a sigh. I was sure we hadn’t damaged him for life.

  I heard familiar voices even before I descended the last steps. Archie’s deep baritone intermingled with Hugo’s gravelly voice and Jem’s high-pitched chatter. I couldn’t hear Frances, but I saw her as soon as I entered the room, and the joy in her eyes when she saw me told me everything I needed to know. She didn’t say anything, but rose to her feet and came toward me, wrapping her arms around me. We stood like that for a few moments, happy to see each other again, and silently acknowledging everything that had happened. She was a widow now, but she’d also lost a child only a few weeks ago. I held Frances away from me and studied her face. “How was the ride to Portsmouth?” I asked carefully.

  “Oh, it was all right,” she replied, shrugging. “We got here just after they closed the gates. We had to find a barn to bed down in for the night,” she said as a charming blush stained her cheeks. “It was drafty and uncomfortable, but we survived.” Her eyes strayed to Archie, who nodded in agreement. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she had been put off by Archie’s company. He turned to look at her, and I saw a softness in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. He had taken on the role of protector, and Frances had been happy to accept.

  “Has Hugo told you about Lionel?” I asked as I sat down and accepted a piece of bread and some bacon. It smelled heavenly, but I couldn’t eat until I knew that Frances was all right, emotionally as well as physically.

  “Yes, he has,” she said quietly. “I’m not quite sure how I feel about his death, but I am happy to be free of him. I would like to use my maiden name again, if that’s all right,” she said, glancing at Hugo. “I’d like to sever any connection to him and that part of my life.”

  “By all means, Frances,” Hugo replied as he meaningfully pushed the plate closer to me. “Eat,” he said, “you barely ate anything last night.” I took an obedient bite and turned back to Frances.

  “From this moment on, I am no longer Frances Finch. I am Frances Morley, an unmarried woman traveling under the protection of my benefactor,” she stated, smiling at Hugo.

  “Indeed you are.”

  I noticed a fat purse of coin attached to Hugo’s belt. Mother Superior must have returned the money Hugo had left in safekeeping for Frances. I had to admit that I was glad. We’d need all the funds we could get in the coming years to keep us afloat. We were a bedraggled group with hardly a change of clothes between us, and would need to start our lives from scratch once we left England.

  Hugo and Archie finished their meal and pushed away their plates, their faces full of determination. “We’re off to the quay to inquire about ships bound for France. Neve, please stay here with Frances and Jem, and DO NOT leave,” Hugo added. He didn’t have to tell me twice. After everything that had happened, I had no desire to be out on my own; I didn’t feel safe, and judging by Frances’s frightened eyes neither did she. Her gaze flew to Archie, who gave her a reassuring smile before leaving.

  “Can we play a game?” Jem asked as he followed me back upstairs. “I borrowed some dice from the innkeeper’s son. I’ll teach you how to play,” he added when he saw my look of ignorance.

  “I know how to play,” Frances said, “and I will win every time.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t,” Jem replied and stuck out his tongue at the girl, who swatted him upside the head and ran up the sta
irs giggling before he could retaliate. I suddenly imagined what it might feel like to be a mother to two nearly grown children.

  Chapter 55

  Max shivered with cold as he was pushed out of the wagon and herded toward a waiting ship, which was bobbing gently on the swells of the iron-gray water. He had nothing besides the clothes he stood up in, and the wind off the water was bitterly cold. Max had only a few moments to catch his last glimpse of England before boarding the vessel. He thought he might be in Southampton, but he couldn’t be sure. The three-masted wooden ship looked like a toy compared to the vessels of the twenty-first century, and Max’s stomach clenched with fear at the thought of crossing the ocean in November in something hardly bigger than a yacht.

  Sailors purposefully crisscrossed the deck as someone shouted orders over the din. They were rough-looking men with weather-beaten skin and shaggy beards, dressed in loose trousers and shirts made of homespun. One stocky fellow passed directly in front of him, and Max took him to be in his sixties until he saw the man’s face. He was no older than Max. Several barrels were rolled up the gangway and taken down to the hold, and a reluctant goat meehed as it was pulled aboard by a boy who appeared to be no older than ten. The deck rolled beneath Max’s feet, but he tried to keep his balance, knowing that his guards would likely kick him if he fell.

  No one paid Max much attention as the soldiers walked him across the deck. An imposing man, presumably the captain or the first mate, directed the soldiers to the wooden ladder leading below deck. Several men were already in the hold, their faces stern and their clothes filthy and smelly. They were chained to iron rings set into the wall. An iron grill was built into the ceiling — it was the only source of light and air. The cabin was bare of any furniture; there wasn’t so much as a bench to sit on. The men would make the voyage locked in this cage, sleeping and eating in their designated spot. Their exercise would consist of walking to the bucket in the corner which would serve as a toilet. The other men eyed Max as he was pushed inside, but no one said a word while the soldiers chained him to a vacant ring and departed without a word.