Max looked around in dismay. He’d expected terrible conditions, but this was even worse than he had anticipated. The stench was overwhelming, and they hadn’t even set sail yet. The men glared at him through matted hair, their faces feral and primitive.
“They’ll take the fetters off once we’re out to sea,” a man close to Max said. Max couldn’t be sure, but he appeared to be in his thirties, with bright blue eyes and a face that must have been handsome at some point. “Should take a few weeks to get to where we’re going,” he continued.
“And where is that?” Max asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out once we get there. I’m Dick, by the way. And you are?”
“Max.”
“Pleased to meet you, Max. That there is John, next to him is Cecil, and the other three aren’t talking yet. Too scared, I reckon.”
Max nodded to the men who reluctantly nodded back. Max was curious what their crimes were, but it seemed too soon to ask such personal questions. Not like they didn’t have time to get acquainted. Max sank to the floor and leaned against the rough wall, closing his eyes. All he wanted was to open them up again and find that everything that had happened to him had been a bad dream, and he was at home in his own bed. Max smiled bitterly at the fantasy. If only… He was starting out on a new chapter of his life; a chapter that was bound to be somewhere at the very end of the book since he wasn’t likely to survive for long. He tried to remain calm, but a tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away angrily, but not before the men saw this sign of weakness. He’d just made a terrible mistake, and he knew it.
Max wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he was brought aboard the ship. No one had come, and no food had been given. The grill above their heads grew dark as day turned into evening. Max must have fallen asleep, but woke up with a start when he heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy chain clanking against the hull as the anchor was raised. The rolling increased as the ship began to move out of the harbor toward the open sea. One man muttered a prayer while the others remained silent, their faces hardly more than pale ovals with hollow eyes in the darkness of the cell. Max was about to pray when he realized the futility of it. God had forsaken him. He was alone.
Chapter 56
I leaned on the railing as the massive vessel heaved into life, the deck vibrating beneath my feet as the anchor was lifted out of the water. Several men went up the rigging, climbing like monkeys despite the bitter wind and the rolling of the ship. The deck was a beehive of activity, and it wasn’t long until I heard the sound of sails unfurling and snapping loudly overhead as they filled with wind. Eventually, the activity subsided somewhat and the crew dispersed, everyone now at their post.
The sailors went about their duties cheerfully, occasionally exchanging a brief comment or joke in French. Frances stood next to me, her face rosy from the cold, but her eyes alight as she watched the coast of England slowly recede. I suppose to her this was a wonderful adventure, but I felt a terrible melancholy steal over me. We were now officially in exile, and it would be years until we could safely return.
I turned, my eyes searching for Hugo, but he was nowhere in sight, and neither were Archie or Jem. If I knew Jem, he was probably down in the galley, begging for food and learning his first words in French, which were probably, “go away, boy.” I wrapped my arm around Frances and we stood like that for nearly an hour, just watching the churching gray water and listening to the screaming of the seagulls overhead, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
I leaned back as Hugo came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my ever-expanding waist, instantly making me feel warmer. I nearing my third trimester, and the baby was moving around and doing summersaults as if it were training for a career in the circus. “Come with me, I have a surprise for you,” Hugo whispered in my ear.
“I’ve had enough surprises,” I replied churlishly, hesitant to leave my safe little spot. I was still feeling unexplainably sad; my insides hollow with the uncertainty of things to come.
“It’s a nice one; I promise,” Hugo said. “You too, Frances.”
We took one last look at the distant shoreline and turned to follow Hugo. He led us to the captain’s cabin, situated in the stern of the ship. The windows along the back wall allowed in feeble November light which was supplemented by numerous candles giving the cabin a pleasant warm glow. Archie was already there, as was the first mate who seemed impatient to get on with whatever we were there for. Jem was practically dancing with excitement, his dark eyes watching me as I entered.
Captain Lafitte was casually leaning against his desk, hands resting on the smooth surface. He was Hugo’s age, with lively dark eyes fringed by lashes that most girls would kill for. His arched brows nearly disappeared beneath his wig as Frances and I entered, his gaze clearly fixated on the lovely, young girl at my side. Frances had been through hell, but none of her suffering showed in her beautiful China doll face. Her blonde ringlets framed her porcelain skin, and her blue eyes opened wider as she took in the splendor of the captain’s cabin.
“Mademoiselles,” Lafitte intoned, giving us an elaborate bow of greeting and welcome. “Are you ready, ma chere?” he asked, looking directly at me for the first time.
“Ready for what?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. Everyone present seemed to be vibrating with suppressed excitement, even Archie. I couldn’t help noticing that Frances moved closer to his side, her hand reaching for his. Archie seemed taken aback by the gesture, but allowed his hand to be held, assuming it was just excitement on Frances’s part.
“Why, for your wedding, of course,” he replied in his accented English. It sounded charming.
“You could have warned me,” I mumbled to Hugo as we took our places in front of the captain. He leafed through the Bible until he found the passage he was looking for, gazed upon us with grave seriousness, and began to recite the wedding ceremony, his face glowing with such fervor as if he were God himself.
Hugo slipped a silver filigreed band onto my ring finger after making his vows, but then added a line from the Protestant service for my benefit.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Captain Lafitte said in his lovely accent. “You may kiss your bride, Lord Everly,” he instructed, clapping his hands like a child as Hugo gave me a long, tender kiss and pulled me close enough to feel our child kicking between us. Everyone stilled as we stood together, lost in each other’s eyes. I no longer felt melancholy, just wonderfully content and loved. I suddenly recalled seeing Hugo’s likeness for the first time at Everly Manor, his scowl making me want to rush past his portrait. The man who looked at me was nothing like that haughty nobleman. He looked vulnerable, happy, and a little nervous, like any bridegroom who was not only embarking on marriage, but was about to become a first-time father. I felt a wave of tenderness wash over me as I leaned over and whispered into his ear. “I love you, husband.”
“I thought of you as mine from the moment we met, and now you are mine at last in the eyes of God and man,” Hugo replied. “I never truly understood what it meant to love someone until I found you.”
Our audience began to grow restless, and the captain stowed away his Bible and turned to us before returning to his place on the bridge.
“It would be my great honor to invite you all to dinner in my cabin tonight to celebrate your nuptials.
“Thank you, you are most gracious, Captain Lafitte,” Hugo said, returning the captain’s generous bow. “We’ll be happy to join you. And now I think Lady Everly and I need a moment alone.”
I giggled as Hugo shut the door to our cabin behind us, and lifted me off my feet nearly smacking my head on the low ceiling. The berth was too narrow and the cabin too tiny for much of a honeymoon, but Hugo sat down and lowered me onto his lap kissing me tenderly. I undid his laces and
lifted my skirts around my waist, sighing with pleasure as he slid easily into me and began to move carefully, his hands on my hips to keep me from falling. We instinctively fell into the rhythm of the moving ship, our joining a fluid motion of two bodies.
“Mine,” Hugo whispered, tipping me over the edge of reason as my body joined his in a climax.
We fell back into the berth, snuggling together as I pushed down my skirts and laid my head on Hugo’s shoulder. “Why now? Why not once we got to France? I had a vision of getting married in some quaint French church, our union witnessed by fat cherubs diapered in frothy clouds as they cavorted overhead.
“No French priest would marry us unless you agreed to convert and go through a rigorous course of the Catechism. I promised that I would never ask that of you, so this was the most logical solution. The captain is a Catholic, which is good enough for me, and he will provide us with a marriage certificate — in duplicate. One for me, and one for you, should you ever need to prove that you are Lady Everly and that our child was born in wedlock.”
“You always think of everything, don’t you?” I asked, astonished as usual by Hugo’s practicality. His mind was always three steps ahead.
“I have to, don’t I?” He slid his hand under my skirt, and laid his palm on the warm skin of my belly as he kissed me.
I didn’t need to ask what he was thinking. I knew.
Epilogue
The rain came down hard as a lone woman walked through the All Hallows by the Tower Church cemetery. She wore a dark hooded cape, but tendrils of dark hair escaped and were soaking wet and plastered against her pale cheeks. She moved slowly despite the driving rain, undaunted by the thunder or lightning that illuminated the cemetery, and bathed it in an eerie light for just a moment before allowing it to be swallowed by the darkness once more. A welcoming light glowed through the stained-glass windows of the church, offering shelter from the rain and solace for the tormented, but the woman resolutely ignored it.
The woman raised her gloved hand and tore something off a tree as she passed, before putting her hand back into the pocket of her cape. She continued to walk, looking left and right until she found what she was searching for. It was the only plot in the cemetery marked with a statue. It was the grave of a duchess who was much beloved by her husband, or so the inscription read. The marble angel stood pensively over her final resting place; its wings folded demurely, its arms outstretched. It seemed to be welcoming the dead, or merely opening its arms in a shrug of acceptance. “Everybody dies,” it seemed to say.
The woman slid down onto the ground and leaned heavily against the legs of the angel. She closed her eyes for a moment as she muttered a prayer, crossed herself, then brought out the berries she’d picked from the yew tree and tossed them into her mouth, chewing slowly. Jane stared up at the laden sky, rivulets of water coursing down her face as the poison began to spread through her bloodstream, making her face contort with agony as she convulsed in the last throes of death.
“I’m sorry, Hugo,” was the last thing she whispered as the light went out of her eyes, and she slumped at the feet of the indifferent angel.
The End
Please turn the page for an excerpt from
Sins of Omission, Wonderland Series Book 3
Excerpt from Sins of Omission,
Wonderland Series: Book 3
The darkness was complete. Max heard his own panicked breathing as he came awake; first partially, then completely as he suddenly remembered where he was and why. Max brought up his hands, but his palms rested on the rough wood only inches from his face. The heat inside the box was stifling, and grains of sand fell onto his face and made his skin and eyes itch. Max tried to breathe, but his heart hammered inside his chest, making even breathing impossible. He was dimly aware of the fact that he was on the verge of an anxiety attack, which would use up whatever air there was in the coffin very quickly. He tried to calm himself by thinking comforting thoughts, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. He was in complete panic mode, and no amount of trying to rationalize the situation would calm him even remotely.
Max’s back was on fire, the scars from the recent flogging fresh and seeping blood. Salt from his sweat ran into the open wounds, making the pain unbearable. The flogging itself had been bad enough, with Johansson taking a short break between each stroke just to heighten the tension and prolong the agony, but the pain he’d been in since was even worse.
Max could still hear the swishing of the whip just before it met with the unblemished skin of his back; the pain so intense that he actually felt the tearing of the flesh as the knotted ends bit into his skin. It had been only thirty lashes for quitting work ten minutes before the end of day, but Max had felt every one of them. By the time Johannsson was done, Max felt as if his back had been branded over and over with a hot iron until his flesh was seared and puckered. Squirming made the pain even worse, but Max couldn’t possibly turn over since the box was just big enough for his body.
He was buried alive, six feet beneath the ground; another casualty of a system that put very little value on human life. By now, everyone would have gone, leaving the freshly dug mound with the crude cross sticking out of the ground. Sometimes, relatives or friends carved the name of the deceased into the crossbar, but for the most part, the crosses were unmarked since no one cared enough to remember the person who died, or to visit their final resting place.
Max would be just another grave with a nameless cross; a faceless victim whom no one cared to remember. Did anyone besides his mother even remember him in his own life, or had everyone just moved on, assuming that he was dead? Well, he’d be dead in a few hours, and no one would ever know what actually happened to him. He would vanish from the face of the earth much as everyone thought Hugo Everly had, except there’d been an explanation for Hugo’s disappearance, just as there was one for Max’s, but no one would ever learn the truth. Max would become a family mystery, a scary bedtime story, a spooky tale to tell on Halloween – the man who vanished without a trace and was never heard from again.
Max’s body began to shake violently, his mouth gasping for breath like a landed fish, and his eyes bulging with lack of available oxygen as the anxiety attack rolled over him like a steam engine. Sweat poured down his face, and he could smell the acrid smell of fear overlaying the wood and earth that had swallowed him up. Max tried to concentrate on a single thought, but his thoughts raced around like rats in a maze, colliding with each other, banging against walls, and succumbing to blind panic. He tried pushing against the lid, but it was firmly in place, held down by several feet of packed earth and nailed shut.
Xeno said that he would be hidden in the jungle by the time he awoke, but either Dido’s potion had worn off too soon, or Xeno had no intention of keeping his promise. The shaking got worse, and Max gulped in more air, which didn’t fill his lungs. He began banging on the lid, but who would hear him? They’d all have gone back to work, leaving him to die a slow, agonizing death. Grains of sand fell into Max’s mouth, and he began to cough violently, banging his head on the wood every time his body spasmed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t stop the overwhelming anxiety that had taken over. Hot urine ran down his leg as his bladder let go. He thought he might soil himself, but it truly didn’t matter. No one would ever see his shame.
Max began to see colored lights in front of his eyes as the lack of oxygen began to take its toll. He was thrashing and screaming, clawing at the lid of the coffin until he ripped off his nails, and his fingers became slick with blood. Something seemed to explode in Max’s head as he went completely limp, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his body stilling at last.
I’m dying, was the last thing Max thought before he lost consciousness.
Notes
I hope you enjoyed book two of the Wonderland Series. I must admit that I enjoyed writing it. It’s fun to play God with the lives of my characters. This installment is a little darker than the first, but the situatio
ns I’ve put Hugo and Neve in are very realistic for the time, and are not as far-fetched as you might imagine. My “Alice” is getting deeper into the world she’s discovered, and Max is still falling down the rabbit hole of his making.
We always think of fairy tales as being magical and child-appropriate, but in truth, there’s much malice in most fairy stories since they were originally written to teach children about life and death, and not simply to entertain. Alice’s Wonderland is full of potential danger and inhabitants who are less than kind, although they appear harmless enough at first. My Wonderland is no different; it’s full of malice, treachery, and unexpected obstacles, but Neve can’t simply wake up from the dream; she must live through her trials and hope that she can survive this world where nothing is what it appears to be, and no one is to be trusted.
Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2) Page 30