The Passage (27 page)

“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry.  It must have been awful for you,” I said, taking her cold hand in mine.  I wanted to offer her comfort, but I had no idea what to say.

“Oh, that wasn’t the worst part,” Jane said, smirking bitterly.  “John Spencer died of syphilis a few years later.  Have you ever known anyone who died of syphilis?  It’s a terrible way to go — years of mental and physical deterioration until there’s nothing left of the person; just a hollow shell, and a deranged mind.  Ernest made sure his lover was cared for and comfortable until the end.  He was devastated after Spencer died, not only because he lost someone he loved, but possibly because he knew that he’d been infected as well.  The physician never told me the truth of my husband’s condition, but I knew.  I couldn’t even tell Hugo because I was too ashamed.  Ernest begged for my forgiveness before he died, although his mind was mostly gone by then.”

“And what of his daughter?”

“Oh, Magdalen wasn’t his.  His wife conceived after nearly a decade of marriage, and it certainly wasn’t by Ernest.  Magdalen was most likely the daughter of a groom or someone from the village.  Can’t say I blame the poor woman.  She wanted a child, and she finally had one.”

“Jane, Ernest is gone now and you are still a young woman.  You can marry again; it’s not too late.”

Jane just shook her head.  “I’m thirty years old, Neve.  I’m well past my childbearing years, and I don’t ever want to be at the mercy of some man again.  Ernest had left me very comfortably off, so I plan to remain a widow and look after my son.  Clarence needs me.  I thought Hugo needed me too, but it seems he’s got you now, although I still don’t understand when all this came about.” 

I sensed her bitterness, but there wasn’t much I could say.  Someday Clarence would grow into a man and want a life of his own and Jane would find herself very lonely once again.

Jane sprang to her feet.  “I must get back.  Clarence will be finished with his Latin by now.”

“I’ll just stay out here a while longer.”

Jane looked deeply embarrassed, but she smiled at me, and I could see that she felt some measure of relief at having told me her secret.  “Thank you, Neve,” she said.  “It felt good to talk.”

“You’re welcome.”

I watched Jane walk away, her back stiff and her gait steady.  I wish I could have helped her, but I suppose getting things off her chest was as much help as she would accept.  She was only eight years older than me, but she saw her life as being virtually over, which just seemed like a terrible waste.  I sighed and left the garden, feeling suddenly suffocated by the stone walls.

Hugo accepted a cup of wine from Bradford and took a long swallow, thirsty after the gallop along the dusty road.  Brad always had good wine, not like the swill they usually served at the taverns.  It was good to see Brad again, and good to talk.  Brad settled himself across from Hugo and listened carefully as Hugo recounted the events of the past few weeks, leaving nothing out.  Brad shook his head in disbelief as Hugo finished and took another sip of wine, savoring the bouquet while waiting for him to comment.

“Well, my friend, you seem to have outdone yourself,” Brad said with a sad smile.  “The fact that Finch chose not to pursue you openly only suggests that he has other avenues of retribution in mind.”

“Which is why I’m leaving England for a time.  Brad, I have a favor to ask of you.  Will you look after Jane?  She’s expressed a desire to remain at Everly Manor, so she might need a hand with the estate as well as some company.  You know what a recluse Jane can be; I’d feel better knowing that at least she had you and Beth.”

“Of course we’ll look after her, but what of her own estate?”

“She has a competent man in place who can run things to her satisfaction until she decides to go back or send Clarence to run things.  I don’t think she ever means to go back.”

“Shall we introduce her to some eligible bachelors once her mourning is at an end?” Bradford asked, giving Hugo a conspiratory smile.  “Jane can be a very eligible prospect for some man.  She’s still a handsome woman and has a large estate which produces a healthy income.”

“Not unless she asks Beth to.  Jane hasn’t had a happy time of it, Brad, so I think she might enjoy being her own mistress for a time.  I’d gone to visit Ernest before he died and had a word with his attending physician.  Ernest died of syphilis, although Jane doesn’t know.”

“Syphilis?” Bradford repeated, gaping at Hugo.  “Are you sure?  I’d never thought Ernest was one for the whores.  He hardly even went up to London, spent most of his time looking after his estate and conferring with that secretary of his, what was the fellow’s name?”

“Spencer.  John Spencer.  Seems he died of syphilis as well.  Perhaps they visited brothels together, who can say?  I only hope that Jane’s health hasn’t been compromised.  The illness takes years to show its symptoms, and is usually not diagnosed until the later stages.”

“I saw Jane only last week and she seemed to be in fine health.  Don’t worry, Hugo, syphilis is a man’s disease,” Brad stated, eager to reassure his friend. 

“How can you say that when the brothels in London are rampant with it?  The men get it from the whores, do they not?  It likely kills as many people per year as the plague,” Hugo replied, surprised by his friend’s naiveté.  Bradford rarely left Surrey, so perhaps he wasn’t aware of the disease and squalor of London, comfortable and safe as he was on his estate.

“Perhaps you are right.  I didn’t think of it that way.”  Bradford set down his cup and ran his hand through his thick, fair hair – a sure sign that he wanted to discuss something with Hugo, but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. 

“What is it, Brad?” Hugo asked, bracing himself for whatever unpleasantness was to follow.  Brad was a great friend, but he was also someone who never minced words, and, in Hugo’s opinion, and that was his greatest quality.  Brad always told him the truth and forced him to take a good, long look at his choices.  Hugo had a fairly good idea of what was coming.

“Have you told Jane that you mean to marry?” Bradford finally asked.

“No, not yet.  I’ll write to her after the deed is done.”

“Why are you keeping it a secret from your sister?  Could it be because you know she’ll disapprove of you marrying some trollop who just happened to stagger into your life?” Bradford demanded, all pretense at diplomacy gone.

“Brad, you will not speak of my future wife in those terms.  Ever!”  Hugo’s voice was low, but he was angry, and Brad knew it. 

“Hugo, we’ve known each other far too long not to be truthful with each other.  Only a few weeks ago you were deeply suspicious of this woman and her motives, and now you are ready to make her your wife.  Why?  Just bed her and discard her when you grow tired of her.  Why offer her marriage?  What do you know of her?  Who are her people?  Where does she come from?”

Hugo was just about to answer, when a flustered servant burst into the room.  The girl was no more than fifteen, and her eyes were round with excitement in her flushed face.  “Master Nash, sir, it’s time.  The pains have started.  The midwife bid me to inform you, sir,” she added, nearly getting the message wrong.

The change in Brad was instantaneous.  He was on his feet, desperate to go to his wife, but knowing that he wouldn’t be admitted until it was all over.  Already there was a sound of running feet as the household prepared for the birth. 

“Dear God, Hugo, I’m terrified for her.  There’s a part of me that just wants it to be over, but what if she doesn’t come through?  What if by this time tomorrow I’d have lost my Beth?  And I haven’t even seen her for weeks.  I’ve only spoken to her through the door.  Oh, I miss her, Hugo.  What would I do without her?”  Bradford’s hands were shaking violently, his eyes haunted by fear for his wife.

“Shall we go for a ride?” Hugo asked, putting his arm around Bradford’s shoulders.  “It might do you good to be away from the house for a time.”

“No, I can’t leave.  What if I’m needed?  I’ll just stay here until it’s over.  Will you wait with me?”

“Of course,” Hugo replied as he poured a liberal amount of wine for his friend.  “Here, have some wine.  How about a game of chess then?  You need something to focus your mind.”

“Right.  Chess,” Bradford mumbled as the sharp voice of the midwife carried through the house, calling for fresh linens and hot water.

I got up on Easter Sunday feeling tired and out of sorts. It was time to prepare for the Easter service, which I had no desire to attend, but had no choice about as church services were mandatory.  Jane was already up, taking breakfast with Clarence and dressed in her customary mourning attire.  Clarence looked miserable.  A boy his age would be hanging out with his friends, playing computer games, and texting inappropriate things to girls in the twenty-first century, but in this time poor Clarence did little more than study with his tutor, sit with his mother, and occasionally escape the house for a ride through the countryside.  The prospect of hours spent in church followed by a second service was probably as appealing as being drawn and quartered.  I couldn’t help feeling pity for him. 

“Did you not sleep well?” Jane asked as she put down her spoon and eyed me suspiciously.

“I was listening for Hugo, but it seems he never returned home last night.”  This was the first time that Hugo hadn’t come home, and I was worried.  What if something had happened?

“He spent the night at Nash House.  There was a message last night.  Seems that Elizabeth Nash finally went into labor, and her husband needed some male company,” Jane replied smugly.  She might have let me know, but for some reason, she chose to keep the information to herself, probably to remind me of my position within the household.  She was mistress here, and she owed me nothing.

“Hugo will join us in church this morning,” she added as she rose from the table, ready to leave.  “No time for breakfast, I’m afraid.  We must go.  Come along, Clarence.”

I trailed after Jane, feeling strangely miserable.  Why was she so snide this morning?  Was it because she was sorry to have confided in me yesterday?  I’d honestly wished she kept her secrets to herself if she were going to punish me for knowing them.  It seemed that women were equally catty in every century. 

I donned my hat and cloak and followed Jane out to the carriage.  I would have gladly walked to church, but Jane felt it unseemly, so Jane, Clarence and I rode inside, while Jem rode on the back of the carriage and the rest of the household simply walked.  The church was already full by the time we made our way to the front and settled in a pew, leaving room for Hugo.  A ripple of anticipation went through the congregation as Reverend Snow stepped up to the pulpit, ready to deliver his Easter sermon.  He had just opened his mouth to speak when Hugo slid in next to me, wearing yesterday’s clothes and smelling strongly of drink. 

“Where have you been?” I hissed, annoyed at him for not sending word to me.

“It’s a boy — Robert,” he whispered joyfully.  “Mother and child are both fine, and the father is senseless with drink and joy.  I kept plying him with wine to keep him from panicking.  The baby was a long time coming.”

Hugo seemed very cheerful, so I just squeezed his hand and settled in for the service, but not before I saw the look of annoyance from Jane, who’d been watching me.  I ignored her and braced myself for the lengthy sermon.  This was going to be a long day, and if Jane chose to be upset about something, she’d have to deal with it on her own.  I still had a Catholic service to sit through.

May 1685

As our departure date approached, I grew more hopeful.  In a few days, we would be on our way to Portsmouth to find a ship bound for France.  According to Archie, who was coming with us, the journey to Portsmouth would take somewhere between ten and fifteen hours, depending on the weather, road conditions, and traffic, which moved at breakneck speed of about eight miles per hour.  The road to Portsmouth was a congested one since it was a direct route between London and the busiest port in England.  We’d be joining the road midway, but there were sure to be many coaches, as well as mounted travelers headed in that direction.  In later years, the road would become known as Sailor’s Highway, the most famous traveler being Admiral Lord Nelson who made the journey from his home in London to board the HMS Victory, which would take him to the fateful Battle of Trafalgar, but it was a long while until Nelson would even be born. 

This time we would be traveling by coach since there would be too much luggage to travel on horseback.  We would have to stop somewhere for the night and change horses before reaching our destination.  Hugo didn’t want to frighten me, but I knew that traveling by coach at night wasn’t safe.  There were countless highwaymen on the road to Portsmouth; the threat of the noose not much of a deterrent since they were well aware that most people who traveled in that direction were bringing goods and valuables.  No one bothered to rob the sailors who were Portsmouth-bound, but the passengers and officers of the navy were ripe for the picking.

Jane took charge of my trunk, making sure that I had whatever she thought I might need for the journey and beyond.  She called in a seamstress from the village, and terrorized the poor woman and her teenage daughter into sewing well into the night to produce undergarments, two day gowns, and a fur-lined cloak made of midnight blue velvet trimmed with ermine at the cuffs and hood.  The inside was made of fox pelt and would keep me warm once the cold weather set in again.  I would take the gown that Jane had previously lent me, plus two more that she was gifting me, certain that I would need them when Hugo and I visited the Court at Versailles.  I had half a dozen pairs of silk stockings, shoes, gloves, and nightclothes.  I felt like a queen.

“Now, this should last you for some little while,” Jane instructed me as she once again took inventory of my possessions, “but once you’re settled, you should find a fashionable dressmaker and order several new gowns.  I have no doubt that the fashions in Paris are simply divine, miles ahead of what the ladies of the English Court are wearing.  Oh, I do wish I could come with you,” Jane added wistfully.  “I so long to visit Paris again.  I went once with Ernest, you know.  It was during the month of May and Paris was in bloom, the sweet smell of roses wafting through the window as I sat at my dressing table and gazed over the flowing river.  The water was sparkling in the sunshine, and little boats drifted on the current, right past Notre Dame de Paris.  It is a most impressive cathedral, Neve, the likes of which I’ve never seen, not even in Canterbury.  You should see the windows.  And the gargoyles.  They are like something straight out of a vision of hell — monstrous and evil.  Gave me quite a turn.  Ernest said I was being foolish.  He said they were used to keep the rainwater away from the walls when it rained.  Fancy that, carving those monstrous things for such a mundane purpose.”

Jane’s petulance seemed to have dissipated after Easter, but I’d decided to keep my own counsel.  I was friendly and polite, but there would be no more confidences if I could help it, and tried to deflect Jane’s numerous questions about my relationship with Hugo the best I could.  I reminded myself that she wasn’t a friend, but a woman whose son would lose out on his inheritance if Hugo and I had a child, a blow Jane wouldn’t take lightly.  Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I’d seen a side of Jane that put me on my guard, something that didn’t happen to me often.

Jane held up one of the new dresses and gave it a critical once-over, making a small hmmph noise in her nose.  “I suppose Mrs. Higgins is adequate for a village seamstress, but this would never do in London, much less Paris.”

“Don’t worry, Jane,” I tried to calm her.  “These gowns will be just fine for every day, and Hugo promised me a whole new wardrobe once we’re settled.”  I wasn’t the type of woman to waste good money on frivolous gowns, but I wanted to humor Jane.  She seemed so concerned with all this minutiae.  I had other things to worry about. 

“Jane, do you not mind that Clarence will no longer be Hugo’s heir if Hugo has a child?” I asked carefully.

“Of course not, you silly goose.  It’s only right and proper that Hugo should have a son and heir.  Clarence will inherit his father’s estate, and that will be enough for him.  His future is assured either way, so don’t you give it another thought.  Are you with child?” she asked carefully, averting her eyes so I couldn’t see the panic there.

“No, I’m not,” I replied, sounding rather terse.  I should never have brought the subject up, but I wanted to see Jane’s reaction. 

“So, nothing to worry about then, is there?” she said happily, turning her attention back to the quickly filling trunk.

No, there was nothing to worry about on that score.  I couldn’t help noticing the disappointment in Hugo’s eyes as I gently pushed his hand away and told him that he’d have to wait a few days until my menses were over.  I knew it wasn’t the waiting that upset him, but the fact that I wasn’t pregnant.  He would have dragged me to the church and married me that very day.  I couldn’t help chuckling at the thought of Reverend Snow’s face if he were presented with such a request, particularly after our recent conversation.  He’d probably insist on calling the banns for three consecutive weeks and make us wait a month to marry. 

Truth be told, I wanted to get married first anyway.  After feeling so alone and betrayed by Evan when I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to know that Hugo wanted to marry me for me, and not just for the child I was carrying.  I wanted it to be right this time, even if the religious factor might be a problem.  Hugo was all right with my Protestantism as long as the child could be raised a Catholic, a prospect I didn’t relish, but couldn’t really deny him.  I’d never been much of a churchgoer anyway, and religion was not something that had any immediate effect on my life.  But, this was the seventeenth-century, so religion affected just about everything and everyone, making being the mother of a Catholic rather a daunting task, particularly in England.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Higgins, who was bringing a dress for me to try on.  Each fitting took a minimum of two hours with Jane and Mrs. Higgins clucking in approval and eyeing me like two hawks who spotted a juicy squirrel that they’d like to devour. 

“I need some air,” I blurted out as I bolted from the room, nearly knocking poor Molly Higgins off her feet and making her drop the bolt of fabric she’d been carrying.  Let them think what they would, but I simply needed to get away from them for a little while.  I’d hardly had a moment alone this past week, what with all the preparations and all, and it seemed as if Jane was constantly at my side.  There were times when she seemed sad that Hugo and I were leaving, but at other times, it appeared as if she couldn’t wait for us to go.  The more I got to know Jane the more perverse she appeared to me, and I almost began to wonder if the story she’d told me about her husband was true, or just a bid for attention and sympathy. 

The most logical explanation for Jane’s behavior, of course, was that she was jealous of Hugo’s love for me.  Hugo had been the only man in her life who genuinely loved her and was loyal to her, and now she had to share him with me
—
a woman who had no family, connections, or money.  In Jane’s estimation, I was beneath her brother, which is probably why he chose not to tell her of our plans to marry.  I suspect that Jane was sincere when she said that she wanted Hugo to marry, but it seemed that she wanted him to marry more out of a sense of duty than love, then his heart would still belong to her, or so she thought.

I was thrilled to see Hugo coming out of the stables.  He was plainly dressed in dun-colored breeches, shirt and coat, his head uncovered and wigless.  This was the way I liked him best, and I told him so.

“Are you secretly attracted to stable boys?” Hugo asked with a grin, his eyes sliding back to the stable in invitation.  “Hay can be very prickly and uncomfortable, but if you insist, I will suffer it for you.”

“And what do you know of lying in the hay?” I teased him.

“Enough to know I’d rather not do it again,” he replied, taking me by the arm.  “Were you looking for me?”

“No, but I’m glad I found you all the same.  Take me for a walk, and not in the gardens.  I want to walk outside.  The garden makes me feel claustrophobic,” I blurted out, instantly realizing that Hugo would have no idea what that meant.

“Did you just make that word up?” he asked, turning to face me.  “I had no idea you knew Latin or Greek.”

“Ah, I don’t,” I stammered, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

“So, how did you just put those two words together?  “Claustro” means “shut-in place” in Latin and “phobia” comes from the Greek word for fear. You do surprise me sometimes,” he mused as we walked through the gate.  “I wish I knew more about you, Neve.  You’re so secretive about your past.  I know you were afraid when you first came here, but you have nothing to fear now.  I won’t hold anything against you, you know.”  We’d had a similar conversation once or twice before, but I couldn’t tell Hugo anything more than he already knew, for obvious reasons.

“A woman should always remain a mystery,” I teased him as I filled my lungs with the fresh May air.  Here, away from the house there were no odors of horses or dogs, or smells of cooking that emanated from the kitchens.  The air was fragrant with wildflowers and grass, underlined by the comforting smell of rich soil and pine from the nearby forest.  It felt incredibly liberating to just walk without being surrounded by walls.

Hugo drew me to him and gave me a sound kiss.  “All right, you can hold on to your secrets – for now,” he whispered as he caught my earlobe with his teeth and made me squeal.  I tried to push him away, but he froze as his head snapped to the right. 

“What is it?” I cried. 

Hugo’s hand immediately went to his left side, but he wasn’t armed.  “Damn,” he hissed under his breath as he realized that he wasn’t wearing his sword.  I was about to ask again when I heard what Hugo had heard a few moments before me -– several horses galloping down the country lane toward us.  I could just make out four riders, and they didn’t appear friendly.

There was no way we could get back to the manor before they reached us, so Hugo just stood his ground, watching warily as the horsemen drew nearer.  One man came to a stop just before he reached us, but the other three took positions on either side and behind us, preventing escape.  My heart pounded in my chest as I looked up at the man above me.  He was wearing a steel breastplate and helmet, the kind I thought was called “lobster tails,” and had been popular during the Civil War.  The polished armor glinted in the spring sunshine, making it difficult to look directly at the rider.  From what I could see, he was middle-aged, bearded, and in top fighting form.  He sat astride his horse as if he were an extension of the animal, his hard muscles clearly visible beneath the fabric of his breeches and the doublet beneath the breastplate.  The other three men were younger, one of them a pudgy youth whose face was covered in spots and a sparse growth of beard.  He was probably no older than sixteen, but judging by the tension with which he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, he was eager to prove himself, which made him dangerous.

“Lord Everly?”

“Yes.  Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” Hugo asked.  I thought “pleasure” was a bit of an overstatement, but I kept quiet, hoping that this wasn’t what my mind was clearly telling me it was.

“I’m Captain Humphries of His Majesty’s Royal Guard.”  He didn’t bother to introduce the other men as he drew out a rolled up document from his pouch. 

“Hugo Edward Thomas Everly, you have been accused of attempted murder, kidnapping, and high treason.  You will be taken to the Tower of London where you will be incarcerated until your trial and subsequent execution,” Captain Humphries announced, glaring down at Hugo from atop his horse.

“So, the outcome of the trial is a foregone conclusion?” Hugo asked calmly.

“It’s not for me to say, but there’s considerable evidence to suggest that the trial will not go your way.”

“And may I ask who has made these accusations against me?” Hugo inquired.

Captain Humphries looked a trifle uncomfortable, realizing that he’d said too much already.  “I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, sir.  You will find out more in due course.”

“Miller, fetch Lord Everly’s horse from the stables, and Banes, search the house for any incriminating correspondence.  Dowson, you are with me.” 

The two men left immediately, while the pudgy youth remained behind, hand still on sword.

“Lord Everly, I see no reason to have you fettered, but if you do anything to resist arrest, I will quickly change my mind.  The men will be back shortly, so you have a few moments to say goodbye to your lady.” 

“Neve, I only have a few minutes, so please listen to me.  I have made provisions for your future should I be found guilty and executed.  Bradford Nash will pay you a stipend for the duration of your life.  You will want for nothing.”