Sins of Omission (14 page)

I felt like a pincushion as three women circled me like vultures, measuring, pinning, tucking, and snipping.  Sabine, my new lady’s maid whom Hugo had insisted on, was looking critically from the side, making rapid comments in French to the seamstresses, and clearly displeased with the progress of the fitting.  I was completely ignoring them all, lost in my own thoughts.  The summons to come to Versailles had come a few days ago, and I was thrumming with nerves like a tuning fork.  I would be completely out of my element, and everyone would know it.  It would have been difficult enough for me to navigate the tumultuous waters of the English Court, but the French one was scarier than a shark tank.  My French was good enough to purchase a loaf of bread or ask someone for directions if I took a wrong turn, but not enough to converse with French courtiers who would be sniggering at me behind their fans and gossiping about my gauche ways. 

I found it somewhat puzzling that Hugo had engaged Sabine about a week before the summons came, and had arranged for the seamstresses to come calling with swaths of fabrics for me to choose from.  It’s as if he knew that we would be invited, which was odd, since French nobility had unanimously shunned us since our arrival in Paris.  Hugo had made the acquaintance of several expats who were happy to receive him, but the French had closed ranks -– until now.  That seemed to brighten Hugo’s spirits as well as the reconciliation which our night talk had inspired.

I was actually glad that I’d been able to confide my fears in Hugo, and he, in turn, made good on his promise.  I didn’t ask where he’d gotten the condoms, but according to him, they had been in use for a few hundred years, just not actively since the Church saw the prevention of conception as being immoral.  Having been in the twenty-first century and seen firsthand that the Church had survived the crisis of widely used contraception, Hugo put aside whatever reservations he might have had and procured a dozen sheaths made from sheep intestines, which had been cleaned and sewn at the ends.  I was actually surprised by how much they resembled modern-day prophylactics. 

It took us a few fumbling tries to get the sheaths on since they couldn’t be rolled on like modern condoms, but eventually Hugo got the hang of it, and the peace of mind that this protection gave me was worth everything.  Having that intimacy with Hugo again filled a hole in my heart that I didn’t know was there, and I noticed that my weight loss seemed to slow down.  I hadn’t realized how anxious and high-strung I’d become, but now that the paralyzing fear of another pregnancy had been removed, I felt more like my normal self, and was able to be Hugo’s wife again in every sense of the word.  Hugo hadn’t said anything more about future children, but I knew that he harbored hopes that I would get over my fear in time.  Perhaps I would, but for now, I didn’t have to think about it, and that in itself was liberating.

I looked in the mirror as Madame Marie asked for my opinion.  I looked like a giant meringue with yards of butter-yellow damask swaying about my hooped hips and the stomacher coming to a point at the waist.  The fabric was worked with barely noticeable silver thread made to look like little bursts of fireworks.  Cream lace frothed at my wrists and décolletage, and an underskirt of embroidered cream silk peeked from underneath my overskirt. Madame Marie turned me around to show me the train which billowed behind me like a sail.  The gown looked like a frothy concoction, but it weighed a ton.  I moved experimentally only to freeze when the hoops swayed, and the skirt with them.  It felt as if a bronze bell was tolling around my bum.

Madame Marie, her assistants, and Sabine were all clucking in approval, but I just wanted to flee.  What I wouldn’t give for a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt.  Sabine helped me undress, but another gown was already waiting to be tried on.  This one was of dusty rose brocade with accents in a deeper shade of mauve.   I sighed and resigned myself to this torture, half-hoping that Valentine would wake up and howl for a feeding.

Later, when I finally managed to escape, I called for a bath.  I couldn’t believe how exhausting a fitting could be, and since the baby was full and sleeping peacefully, I decided to do something nice for myself.  Most ladies of the time bathed in some sort of garment, but I stripped naked and immersed myself in the hot water just up to my breasts.  Lowering my breasts into hot water made the milk flow, which wasn’t desirable when bathing.  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, suddenly wondering how this had become my life.  I wasn’t complaining by any stretch of the imagination, but the idea of coming face to face with the Sun King was intimidating. 

Hugo quietly entered the room and sat down by the fire, watching me in the bath.  He looked tired, and had that closed look that I’ve so often seen when he was worried or upset.  It was one of those things that were a dead giveaway that something was wrong, and I suddenly felt very tender toward him.  He’d been through so much in the past year, but our trials and tribulations were far from over.  Hugo was walking a tightrope, and any misstep would result in a deadly plunge, with myself and Valentine falling with him.  That was a lot of pressure for anyone to bear, especially a man who understood the consequences of his actions. 

“Darling, what is it?” I asked as he smiled at me ruefully.  “You look done in.”

“Your new gowns are beautiful,” he said instead, clearly avoiding the question.

“Yes, they are, and I might even remain upright for a few hours before falling flat on my face from the sheer weight of those fabrics.  Now, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Hugo turned away and stared into the flames for a few moments, his jaw working in a way that suggested that he was grinding his teeth.  I hadn’t seen him do that before, and was suddenly nervous.  “Hugo?”

“I’ve had a letter from Brad,” he finally admitted.  We’d had no word from Bradford Nash since the last time we saw him in London after Max’s trial, and hadn’t expected any communication until later in the spring.  Hugo had sent a letter as soon as the ships began sailing in March, but by the time the letter would reach Brad and he would reply, it would most likely be May.  This was unexpected since Brad wouldn’t know where to send his letter until receiving Hugo’s first.

“Really?  When?”

“While you were having your fitting.  A messenger brought it.  It was addressed to Luke and included in the diplomatic pouch to ensure delivery.  Brad knew that Luke was in Paris and hoped the letter would reach me.”  Hugo grew quiet again, confirming my suspicions that the news from home wasn’t good.

“How are the Nashes?” I asked in an effort to draw Hugo into conversation once more.

“They are well.”  More silence.  After the long winter, we were all a bit pale, but Hugo looked ashen as he stared into the leaping flames of the fire, his jaw still working.  I wished I could go to him, but I was soaking wet with water streaming from my freshly washed hair onto my breasts. 

“Hugo, please tell me.”  He’d have to tell me sooner or later, but he seemed reluctant to speak the words.  I waited patiently, giving him a moment to compose himself.  He just sat there, perfectly still and silent, as if keeping the words locked in his head would undo whatever had happened.

“Jane is dead,” he finally uttered, turning at last to face me.  His eyes were full of pain, and I could only imagine what he was feeling.  Despite his anger and resentment, he still loved the girl Jane had been, and couldn’t reconcile the bitter, angry woman with the sister he had loved.  He still blamed himself, I knew that; imagining possible other scenarios in which Jane’s life had turned out differently. 

I couldn’t be as generous, given what Jane had intended for me and our baby, but then again, I’d never known the girl, or the young woman who’d been innocent and naïve.  I was secretly relieved that the woman who’d plotted to have me thrown into Newgate on a trumped-up charge of witchcraft, and hoped that I would die there, was dead.  Now Hugo would have no choice but to mourn and heal, rather than worry about a possible reunion in England and another attempt on my life.  As long as we only had a daughter, Jane still had a chance at succeeding in her plans, a fact that Hugo was well aware of.

“From syphilis?” I asked, surprised that it had progressed so quickly.  Jane had shown some signs of the disease, but she certainly hadn’t been far gone.  I assumed that she still had years ahead of her before the illness incapacitated and eventually killed her.

“No,” Hugo replied stonily.  “She was found by some gravediggers in a cemetery in London a few days after the trial.  There was a letter to Clarence found on her person.  The ink had been smudged since it rained the day before, but most of the message was still legible.  She said goodbye and begged his forgiveness, so there was no doubt that it was suicide.”  Hugo winced as he said the word, still shocked that his deeply Catholic sister would commit the ultimate sin against God.

“How did she die?” I asked softly.  I suppose it was morbid curiosity, but I wanted to know. 

“It had to be by poison since there were no marks on her body.  She was shipped back to Kent and buried at the crossroads closest to Three Oaks.  Clarence will pass her grave every time he so much as leaves the house,” Hugo added bitterly.

“Where is he now?  Surely he’s not living alone.”  Clarence had recently turned fourteen, but he was still too young to live on his own in the house of his birth.  He had a tutor, from whom he tried to escape at every possible opportunity, but he still needed adult supervision and help with running the estate.  I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boy, given how close he’d been with his mother.  The shame of her suicide would haunt him as well, especially if the grave was just outside the estate for all to see.  Clarence had been a bit sullen, as most teenagers are, but he was a good lad, one who didn’t deserve to be abandoned by his mother.

“Clarence is staying in London with his half-sister, Magdalen.  In my absence, Magdalen’s husband will be Clarence’s guardian until he reaches maturity and is ready to assume the running of the estate.  Brad said that the boy is heartbroken and confused.  He will have to live with the stigma of his mother’s suicide for the rest of his life.  Thank God Magdalen has taken him in or he would be completely alone.”

“I’m really sorry, Hugo.”  I wasn’t sure what to say.  Jane had ensured that she would not be buried in consecrated ground or go to Heaven.  Was that her way of punishing herself for what she’d done, or was she in such a state that she simply hadn’t thought about it?  I would have liked to think that there was a grain of remorse in Jane, no matter how small, but couldn’t be sure.  By committing suicide, she’d hurt Hugo once again, making sure that there could be no forgiveness, even in death.

“I’m going to write to Clarence,” Hugo said suddenly.  “Jane might have poisoned him against me, but I’m still his uncle, and would like to think that we can have a close relationship once we return to England.”

“Clarence probably thinks that you are in the West Indies, serving your sentence,” I replied, wondering what Hugo was going to tell the boy.

“Well, it’s time he knew the truth.  He’s old enough to understand, and to judge for himself.  I can’t put everything in writing, but I will ask Brad to call on him and explain.  Perhaps he’ll hate me a little less then.” 

Hugo raked his hand through his hair in agitation.  If I knew anything about teenage boys, it was that they weren’t easy to reason with, especially when led to believe that the person in question was a traitor.  It was anyone’s guess what Jane had said to him about me, if anything, but if Clarence believed Hugo to be bewitched, he might be nursing a grudge against me as well.  It was reasonable to assume that Clarence blamed Hugo for his mother’s death, which was indirectly true, so his feelings wouldn’t be easily soothed. 

By the time we returned to England and Hugo could speak for himself, Clarence would be nearly eighteen, a grown man, and the master of Three Oaks.  I hoped that his previous relationship with Hugo would speak for itself and he would welcome his uncle home, but it was hard to predict how he would feel and what influence his sister and her husband might have on Clarence while he remained with them.  I had never met Magdalen, but from what Jane had told me, she’d never cared for her stepdaughter and had been happy to marry her off.  Perhaps Magdalen would help Clarence deal with his loss, but then again, she wouldn’t know the truth about Hugo or myself, and naturally assume the worst.

The biggest issue, however, was that legally Clarence was still Hugo’s heir, a fact which Hugo was acutely aware of.  If anything befell Hugo, Valentine and I would be at Clarence’s mercy for our survival, yet another reason why Hugo desperately needed a male heir.  I looked away from his tense expression, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. 

Blood-red ribbons of a spring sunrise were just becoming visible above the rooftops of Paris as our carriage rolled into the city.  We’d left Versailles sometime after three a.m. and had been traveling since.  What would have taken less than an hour by car took several hours by carriage, and although we had been invited to spend the night at the palace, had to politely refuse in order to be at home by the time Valentine woke up for her morning feeding.  I forced myself to unclench my fists and relax, which took something of an effort.  I could practically hear the baby howling with hunger since she was usually up by this time, hungry and wet.  All I wanted was to hold that sweet-smelling warm body against me, bury my face in her chubby shoulder and cry. 

Hugo was dozing with his head against the padded side of the carriage; his features relaxed in sleep.  He’d been unusually tense after we left the palace, but the motion of the carriage had finally lulled him to sleep.  I didn’t want to add to his anxiety, so I put on a brave face and told him it had been a magical evening, when, in fact, it had been one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.  I’d dreaded the visit to Versailles, knowing that I couldn’t possibly hold my own among people who’d spent most of their lives as courtiers.  I was a woman raised in the twenty-first century, taught to be independent, straightforward, and proud of my accomplishments, not a simpering, flattering, forked-tongued sycophant whose only goal in life was to get as much as I could from my position and sex appeal, not that those would have gotten me much here. 

Luke had spent hours over a period of several days tutoring me in the ways of Louis’s Court.  I took copious quill-scratched notes on who was married to whom, who was sleeping with whom, who had discarded whom in favor of someone with more social-climbing potential, and who was scheming against whom in a military-worthy campaign of taking them down.  Luke had warned me of topics which were not to be discussed for fear of appearing vulgar.  Speaking of Valentine was completely off-limits. 

“Most women farm out their children to a wet-nurse and forget about them until they are at least two,” Luke admonished me with a stern look.  “Maternal pride is unheard of, not to mention utterly misplaced at Court.  Nor are you to gush about your husband.  French women regard their husbands with barely hidden contempt.  They marry to improve their prospects, not out of any sense of misguided affection, so your love for Hugo would be a source of derision to them, particularly since they would be jealous enough to scratch out your eyes.”

“Versailles sounds like Heaven on earth,” I said sarcastically, “can’t wait to visit.”

Luke ignored my cattiness and continued unperturbed.  “You will not be seated next to Hugo at supper, nor will you be anywhere near him for most of the night, so you will be entirely on your own.  The best you can do is respond when spoken to, but not too effusively, smile mysteriously, and for God’s sake, don’t stare at anyone.  Lower your eyes as often as possible, lest someone take offense at your gawking.”

“Ease up, Luke,” Hugo drawled from his place by the fire.  “She’s not a simpleton.”

“I do beg your pardon, Neve,” Luke said immediately.  “I just want to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment.  One mistake can seriously cost you at the Court of Louis XIV.”  Luke turned to Hugo, eyeing him suspiciously.  “I’d still like to know how you managed to wangle an invitation to Court.  Sir Trumbull is fuming, you know.  Now he will be forced to acknowledge you, despite his desire to behead you himself.  Whatever favors you called in, Hugo, I hope it was worth it.”

Hugo just smiled indulgently, but chose not to reply.  I had to admit that I had been wondering the same thing myself.  One moment we were virtually invisible, and suddenly we’d been summoned to Court to attend on one of Europe’s greatest monarchs.  The notion of being presented to the Sun King made me giddy with nerves, but a more detached part of me couldn’t help gloating at meeting such a famous historical figure. 

“What is he like, Luke?” I asked, suddenly realizing that all I knew of the man I’d learned from history books, which, if I had anything to go on were not always accurate.

Luke looked around to make sure we were quite alone and then shut the door to the parlor to be sure that he wasn’t overheard by the servants.  They didn’t understand English, but Luke’s position would be severely compromised if anyone heard him say anything even remotely negative about the king.

“Louis is a spoiled child,” Luke began.  “He adores flattery, and surrounds himself with people who gush over him at any opportunity.  The clumsier the attempt, the more flattering he finds it, since he believes it to be more heartfelt.  He particularly craves praise of his military prowess, and will gladly start a war if only to show off his skill as a leader.  Of course, he also fancies himself quite the lover, and has bedded many of the women of the Court over the years.  Many of them are now too old and undesirable to still be received, but there is plenty of new blood.  If he takes a fancy to someone, a refusal is paramount to social suicide.  The woman is simply expected to grace His Majesty’s bed at the appointed hour.  He doesn’t bother with wooing or playing the gallant.”

“Stay out of his way, Neve,” Hugo advised me with a wary glance.  “I wouldn’t want to have to call out the king of France.”  The chances of Louis inviting me to share his bed were mercifully nonexistent, but the mere thought was abhorrent.  Would Hugo stand aside and let a monarch bed his wife as other men did? I wondered.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Hugo replied as if I’d spoken out loud.  “You are mine for better or for worse, and mine you shall remain.” 

I liked the sentiment, but I didn’t care for the tone.  I gave Hugo a withering glance as I continued to scratch away.  “Ah, Luke, I have a rather delicate question,” I stammered.  This was something very basic, but I didn’t think I would be able to ask one of the ladies for fear of making a fool of myself.  “Where does one answer the call of nature?”

“There are several rooms set aside for that very purpose.  There are chamber pots behind screens for the ladies.  The gentlemen don’t require such measures since they don’t share your delicate sensibilities,” he joked.  “I will discreetly point out the room to you once we get to the palace.”

“Am I allowed to seek you out, if I can’t talk to my own husband?” I asked, feeling even more nervous.

“You and I may exchange some pleasantries, but you cannot appear to purposely attach yourself to me.  You can casually stroll by and stop for a second should you need assistance, but otherwise, you’re on your own, Neve.”

Hugo rose to his feet and took my clammy hands in his.  “I know you’re nervous, and you have every right to be, but it’s only for a few hours, and I know that you can hold your own among those women.” 

Hugo might know a great deal about politics and religion, but he knew very little about the cattiness and duplicity of women.  I felt a little guilty for that stray thought when I remembered how Hugo had suffered at the hands of his sister.  Perhaps he did know something of women’s capacity for deceit now.  I smiled into his eyes and nodded in what I hoped was a reassuring way.  Yes, I would be all right no matter what, as long as I didn’t get milk stains on my gown.  I would have to put thick wads of folded linen into my bodice, and change them every few hours to make sure that I didn’t embarrass myself.  The women of the Court didn’t nurse their babies, so this was a problem unique only to me.  At least there were screens in the ladies’ rooms, so I could have a little privacy when I changed my milk-soaked pads.

I nearly tumbled from the coach when we reached the house and ran up the path, my skirts bunched in my hands.  Hugo was right behind me, but I was already pounding on the door, desperate to get to Valentine.  I could hear her cries as I flew up the stairs, my fingers tearing at the laces of my gown frantically.  Frances was still in bed, but Marthe was in our room, rocking the baby and singing to her in French as Valentine screamed, her face red, and her little fists shaking as if she were spoiling for a fight.  Her toothless gums shook with rage as she tried to make her needs known.  I grabbed the baby from Marthe and put her to my one exposed breast, as the maid went about unlacing me and carefully removing the parts of the gown without disturbing the baby.  Valentine gave me the gimlet eye as she latched on and began to suck furiously, her eyes closing in concentration.

“How long has she been crying?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer. 

“Not long, milady,” Marthe answered.  I knew she was lying.

Finally, I was free of the gown and able to sit down in my nursing chair.  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as hot tears slid down my cheeks.  I didn’t want to remember what I had overheard as I stood frozen behind the screen, but the tittering voices of the women were hard to forget. 

“I must admit that he’s rather handsome, in that typically English way,” one woman said.  “He’s powerfully built; I always like that in a man.”

“Mm, he is indeed,” another one purred.  “He’s one I’d like to see without his wig,” she giggled, clearly implying something else.

“He can keep on his wig as long as he takes off his breeches,” the first one replied. 

“Oh, he will soon enough,” a third woman said.  “Did you see that wife of his?  What a disgrace.  She’s no better than a peasant.  I hear they are recently married.”

“Probably married her in the hopes that she would give him an heir, but I hear she had a girl.  What a bitter disappointment it must have been for our charming Lord Everly.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get her full in the belly again soon and take a mistress.  At least that silly cow won’t be invited to Court if she’s pregnant, so he can have free rein.”

“Hmm, he’d have to actually lie with her to get her with child again.  What a chore that must be.  She’s got the face of a pug.  And that hair….”  I had refused to allow Sabine to do anything drastic, wearing it piled as high as my natural hair would allow.  Some of the women had rather elaborate hairstyles, which were so high and powdered that a family of canaries could live in the depths, mistaking the hair for a nest.

“He doesn’t need to look at her face.  What possessed him?” one of the women asked.  “She has no title, no family, and from what I hear, no money.”

“Perhaps he plucked her out of some brothel.  A certain kind of talent goes a long way.”  The women burst out laughing as they finally exited the room and made their way back to the musical performance which was in progress.  I strongly suspected that they’d known I was there all along, which made their comments even more spiteful.  I had no doubt that something along those lines would be expressed to Hugo in short order, if it hadn’t been already. 

I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand, suddenly angry with myself.  I promised myself that I would remain above all that, but I’d let their cattiness get to me at the very first opportunity.  Those women had accomplished precisely what they set out to do; they made me doubt myself and my husband.  The fact that I had no title, family, or money signaled to them that it was a love match, something none of them could claim, and it was enough to make their tiny little hearts burn with envy.  Had Hugo been short, homely, and pasty-faced, no one would have given our marriage a thought, but his attractiveness was sure to get the attention of the women and make me a target.

I smiled brightly as Hugo came in; already divested of his evening clothes and looking like the Hugo I loved.  His hair was disheveled; he needed a shave, and his shirt was open at the throat to reveal a glimpse of crisp black hairs curling on his chest.  He reached out and took the now sleeping child from me and after kissing her head put her in her cradle.  Valentine smiled in her sleep, a little dribble of milk still on her chin.  Hugo wiped it away with his finger and licked it off, his eyes never leaving mine.  I just walked into his arms and rested my head on his shoulder, my equilibrium finally restored.

“That bad?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“It was fine, really.”

“Neve, the king was seen watching you across the room.  That’s enough to make women despise you on sight.  He was probably nothing more than curious about you, but any sign of interest is enough to mark you as competition.  Don’t take anything they said to heart.”

“Are you disappointed that Valentine is a girl?” I blurted out.  I knew it was a silly question, but I had to hear it from his lips.  I knew he wanted a son, but was sure that he loved Valentine as much as he would have a boy.  Was I wrong?

Hugo held me away from himself and stared at me, his face incredulous.  “Do you really believe that?”

“No, but I had to ask.”

“Neve, I thank God every single day for sparing you from dying in childbirth and granting me a precious little girl.  Of course I’m not disappointed.  Besides, there’s still time to have a boy.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then Clarence will inherit, and perhaps history will go on as it was meant to, with me dying without producing a male heir.”

Hugo carefully maneuvered me toward the bed, but I planted my hands on his chest, making him pause.  “Hugo, I know that you hope I’ll change my mind, but I’m not ready for another child, nor will I be for some time to come.”

“I know,” he replied in a soothing manner.  “I would never go against your wishes.  We will plan for it when the time is right.”

“But we hadn’t planned Valentine,” I protested.