Sins of Omission (2 page)

February 1686

Paris

Huge flakes of snow twirled silently and settled on flower beds of the forlorn garden, blanketing everything in sight in a soft comforter of white with a hint of lavender.  Branches of trees suddenly looked festive as the snow transformed them from bare sticks to whimsical creations against the pale winter sky, which was just purpling with twilight, the darkness beginning to pool in hollows and corners.  There wasn’t a human being in sight as I gazed out the window at the pristine street below.  Soft light could be seen from neighboring homes, but I preferred to sit in the dark, content with the glow of the fire in the hearth.  This was my favorite time of day, when real life seemed momentarily suspended between day and night, sun and shadow.

I leaned against the window pane, its cold glass smooth beneath my forehead.  I was always hot these days, my hormones playing havoc with my body.  The baby wasn’t due for almost another month, but I felt as if I’d been pregnant forever, my body no longer my own, but controlled by the little being thoughts of whom dominated my every waking hour.  I finally left the window and settled in front of the fireplace, feeling somnolent and content.  It was so nice to have a home again after living like nomads for months.  The journey from Le Havre to Paris took over a week, and left me tired and cranky.  Traveling by carriage wasn’t comfortable on the best of days, but we’d been plagued by rain and flooding, and my advanced pregnancy didn’t help since I needed to stop often to relieve my bladder and stretch my legs, which tended to cramp. 

Frances and Jem quickly grew tired of traveling and were bickering and complaining about the rain and the discomfort, which left Hugo and Archie grinding their teeth with frustration.  All in all, I was very happy when we finally got to Paris.  Hugo found us a suitable inn, and once we were all settled and fed, left us to go on some mysterious errand.  I was so tired, I was glad to stretch out on the soft bed and get a few hours of sleep, which soothed my aching back and strained nerves.  Archie made sure to keep Frances and Jem out of my way per Hugo’s instructions. 

   Hugo returned a few hours later, tired and wet, but satisfied with the day’s work.  He stripped off his sodden garments and climbed into bed next to me, making me squeal as he pressed his cold feet against my warm ones. 

“Are you feeling rested,
mon coeur
?” he asked as he placed his hand on my belly in a proprietary manner.

“Are you going native already?” I asked, surprised by the endearment.  Hugo spoke fluent French, but had never called me “my heart” before.

“I thought I’d try it out.  I overheard it today and thought it had a nice ring to it,” Hugo confessed as he snuggled closer to me for warmth.

“So, where have you been?  You look half-frozen, but strangely pleased with yourself.”

“I paid a visit to an old friend from London.  I might have mentioned him
—
Luke Marsden.  We shared a Greek and Latin tutor while living at Court with our fathers.”

“Is he not the same friend who took up with Margaret, lured her to London, and then dropped her like a stone when he grew tired of her?” I asked, my voice suspicious.  I’d never met Margaret; she died a year before I met Hugo, but she had been Jemmy’s mother, and I felt angry at the man for behaving as he had.  In this day and age, a woman didn’t recover easily from such treatment, particularly if she had no family to turn to or income to fall back on.  Margaret had eventually returned to Cranley, but only after Hugo had come upon her in the street, prostituting herself to survive.  Hugo had brought her back and helped her get back on her feet, but the girl who left and the woman who returned were not the same person.

“No, that was his cousin, Nicholas Marsden,” Hugo clarified.  “Luke is here with Sir William Trumbull, the English envoy.  I think James II sent Luke to keep Sir William in check, as he’s a zealous opponent of Catholicism and seeks to improve the conditions of Protestants in France after the Edict of Fontainebleau.”

“Which is?” I asked, not really wanting to know.

“The Edict of Fontainebleau revoked the Edict of Nantes, which granted French Protestants substantial religious freedoms.  Louis XIV felt that it was an affront to him, as a Catholic king, to have heretics practicing their religion openly in his country.  The Huguenots are being persecuted once again, something that Sir Trumbull vehemently opposes.”

“Why does everything always come down to religion?” I asked, annoyed.  “Why can no one just let anyone worship as they see fit?”  I knew I was being ridiculous, but blamed it on pregnancy hormones.  This was seventeenth-century Europe, the hotbed of religious intolerance and persecution, not twenty-first century England, which incidentally, had its own share of problems.  As much as the world had changed, it hadn’t changed all that much.  In the twenty-first century, religious intolerance was still very much alive in some parts of the world, but slightly more subtle due to the veneer of civilization that cloaked the hatred that still seethed beneath the surface.  True, Catholics and Protestants were no longer slaughtering each other en masse, but now the world was fixated on problems in the Middle East, especially since the region seemed to grow more unstable by the day.

Hugo dismissed the question and pulled me closer, nibbling on my ear.  “Luke was very glad to see me, although it took him some time to recognize me.  I do look a fright,” Hugo said with a sigh.  I didn’t argue.  The handsome nobleman I’d met last year now had dirty-blond hair with two-inch-long black roots, clothes that had seen better days, and boots that were practically worn through.  To anyone who didn’t know him, he looked like a down-on-his luck merchant, not a scion of a noble, titled family. 

“I trust Luke got over his confusion?”

“Yes, he did, and he’s offered to help us.  He will call on us tomorrow with his tailor.  The first order of business is the state of our wardrobe,” Hugo said as he glanced at my one gown, which hung over the chair in all its parts.  “We cannot do anything until we are all properly attired.  Everyone will be fitted for new clothes tomorrow.”

“What about a place to live?” I asked, voicing my greatest concern.  I didn’t care as much for new gowns as I wanted a place to call home.  We’d been staying at inns since the beginning of September, and I wanted a place of our own, even if it was tiny and unfashionable.  Hugo and I had barely had any privacy since leaving London, and had to share our room with Jem and Frances more often than not on the way to Paris.  Archie chose to stay in communal quarters where he shared a bed with other travelers, but he didn’t mind; he wasn’t fussy.  At this point, a room of my own with a bed made up with clean linens was my idea of heaven.

“That might take a little longer, but have patience, my sweet.  I promise you a home where we can be happy and comfortable.”

**

Luke Marsden arrived at noon on the following day, as promised, and whatever resentment I might have felt toward his philandering cousin, did very little to stop me from liking him.  Luke was in his early thirties, with a mane of dark-blond wavy hair, which he chose not to cover with a wig, and dark blue eyes that crinkled with humor and wit.  He was tall, lean, and tastefully dressed, something that wasn’t easy to accomplish in Louis XIV’s France.  Most men looked like overly-groomed poodles with lace, bows, high heels, and waist-length curls coifed in outlandish styles.  I was glad to see that he shunned the forced formality of Court and instead acted like an old friend.

“Lady Everly, what an utter delight to meet you.  I honestly believed that no woman would ever ensnare Hugo again, but I’m glad to have been wrong.”  He kissed my hand and smiled into my eyes as his lips stretched into a warm smile.  “I’m so pleased to see him happy at last, even if he is homeless and dressed like a beggar, but we will see to that.  I’ve brought my tailor, who is setting up in your room even as we speak.  Perhaps you will join me for a drink while Hugo is being measured.”

“Thank you,” I said as I accepted a cup of wine I had no intention of drinking.  Now in my last trimester, I couldn’t abide any alcohol and drank only milk and tea, when available.  Tea was impossible to find in the small towns, but now that we were in Paris, Hugo had been able to buy a pound of tea leaves, which I brewed in our room with hot water procured from the kitchens. 

“How do you like Paris?” I asked, wondering exactly what his function was.

“It’s very French,” Luke confided with a wicked grin, “but it has its charms.  I act as secretary and confidant to Sir Trumbull; not an easy task, believe me.  He’s a brilliant politician, but something of a zealot when it comes to questions of religion.  He can be quite outspoken on the subject of the Huguenots, which rankles His Majesty James II to no end.  One of my many jobs is to rein him in whenever he gets too passionate about his cause.  After all, Louis must not get wind of Sir Trumbull’s views or our diplomatic mission here will be jeopardized, not something that would be viewed favorably in London.”

I was just about to respond when Frances and Jem entered the parlor, having been expelled from our room to await their turn with the tailor.  They both looked bedraggled, but unlike myself, who looked wan and tired after weeks of travel, they looked fresh as daisies, and just as beautiful.

“Master Marsden, allow me to present Frances Morley and Jem, Hugo’s page.”

Luke Marsden jumped to his feet and bowed to Frances as if she were the Queen of France, his eyes round with admiration.  Frances blushed prettily and accepted a chair and a cup of wine which Luke poured for her.  His eyes never left her face as he struggled to get himself under control.  He was clearly overcome by Frances’s loveliness, a condition that afflicted most men when they came face to face with our ward.  Unlike the ornamental ladies of the Court, Frances was naturally beautiful with curling golden hair and eyes the color of a summer sky.  Her delicate features and natural shyness brought out people’s protective instincts, which always struck me as ironic considering what she’d suffered at the hands of her husband, who was now thankfully dead.  Frances had been so scarred by her marriage, that she refused to use her husband’s name and reverted to calling herself Frances Morley, the name she’d been born with.

“Mistress Morley, how wonderful to meet you.  Hugo told me that he’s now your guardian, but I’m afraid he never mentioned how lovely you are.  And Jem, a pleasure to meet you,” Luke said looking intently at the boy who was now standing in front of him.  I wasn’t sure why he seemed so taken aback, but he studied Jem with open curiosity. 

“Master Marsden,” Jem replied and fled, eager to get out of the parlor and away from boring adult conversation.  He had already charmed the innkeeper’s wife, who supplied him with hot buns and cups of chocolate which made him hyper. 

I could see questions forming in Luke’s mind, mostly those having to do with Jem’s relationship to Hugo, but I pretended not to notice and asked him to tell us something of life at the Court of Louis XIV.  Frances listened intently, eager for every morsel of information about a life she’d only heard about, but never seen with her own eyes.

“The French Court is vastly different from the English one,” Luke explained, his eyes never leaving Frances.  “There are the usual intrigues, love affairs, and feuds, but in France everything is gay, colorful, and utterly glorious.  Most courtiers devote their lives to the pursuit of pleasure, and go from one glittering dream to another.  The fashions are utterly outlandish, and the degree of extravagance is staggering.  The Court of James II is much more somber by comparison.  He’s nothing like his brother, who could have rivaled Louis in his hunger for pleasure.  I must admit that it does grow overwhelming after a time, and I long for the quiet pleasures of life in the country.  I look forward to returning home,” he added wistfully.

“Where is your home?” Frances asked, clearly wanting to know more.

“My family comes from Devon.  We have a great big house near Exmouth.  There’s a view of the sea that would take your breath away, Mistress Morley.  I miss it dreadfully.”

“It must be nice to live by the sea,” Frances mused.

“It’s like nothing else in the world.  Once you’ve lived by the sea, anyplace else feels suffocating, even the Court of a great king.”

Frances was about to question Luke further when Hugo finally came down and informed her that it was her turn.  Frances departed with a pretty curtsy and Hugo joined us for a drink, glad to be finished with the tedious task of being fitted for a new suit.

“Hugo, I’ve made some inquiries, and I think I’ve found something that might be quite perfect for you.  An acquaintance of mine has recently lost a large sum at cards, and has reluctantly decamped to his family chateau in the Loire Valley to lick his wounds.  Considering his dire predicament, he was more than happy to entertain the notion of leasing his Paris residence, complete with all its furnishings and staff.  The house is on Rue de Surene, which is not too far from the Jardin de Tuileries and the Louvre Palace,” Luke explained, assuming we didn’t know Paris very well. 

“It’s a three-story building with five bedchambers, reception rooms on the ground floor, several rooms for servants on the top floor, and a small garden at the back.  And the asking price is very reasonable.  I think it would be quite suitable.  Would you like to see it?”

I glanced at Hugo to see his reaction.  A house in the center of Paris was bound to cost more than we could afford, but Hugo seemed eager to see it, so I readily agreed.