The Passage (16 page)

Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If I were king, dilly, dilly
I'd need a queen

Who told you so? Dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so

If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer, "Yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
You'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of

Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If you were king, dilly, dilly
You'd need a queen

Who told you so? Dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
You told yourself, dilly, dilly
you told you so

If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer, "Yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
I'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of

Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then you'll be king, dilly, dilly
And I'll be your queen

I was surprised to see the expression on Hugo’s face when I finally finished the song and took a little bow.  He looked gutted; his face pale in the candlelight, a haunted look in his dark eyes as he drank me in, clearly surprised by my performance.  He quickly regained his composure and clapped his hands along with our host and Edmund Somerville, who looked blank.

“You have a multitude of talents, my dear,” Hugo said, smiling at me in approval.  It was an innocent enough comment, but I saw the hungry look in Sir Benedict’s eyes.  He assumed that Hugo was referring to my talents in bed, and I shuddered with revulsion as he came closer and leaned over me, practically drooling onto my breasts.

“Oh, yes.  That was lovely, just lovely,” Sir Benedict breathed.  “Give us another.”

“I’m afraid Mistress Ashley is very tired after a long day in the saddle.  Perhaps we can let her go get some rest, and you and I can have some of that wonderful brandy,” Hugo suggested smoothly.  It was time for the men to talk and for me to leave.  Hugo was diplomatically suggesting that Sir Benedict excuse his secretary as well, and the point wasn’t lost on our host, who waved a hand at the young man, signaling that he might depart.

“Edmund, escort Mistress Ashley to her chamber, if you will,” he commanded as he reached for the decanter of brandy.  “Lord Everly and I have much to discuss.”

“Goodnight gentlemen,” I said, deeply relieved at being dismissed.  I was exhausted and longed only for my bed.  Edmund didn’t say much as he led me through the house.  He seemed tired himself, grateful to get away from his demanding master. 

“Goodnight, Mistress Ashley,” he said as he stopped in front of my door.  You have a lovely voice.” 

“Good night, Mr. Somerville; you are too kind.”

Edmund Somerville shook his head, his expression one of disgust.  “If I were kind, I’d tell you to lock your door and leave this house as soon as you can.  Sir Benedict drives a hard bargain, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a part of it.”

“What can you mean?” I gasped, suddenly afraid. 

“Only that I hope that Lord Everly holds you in very high esteem,” was all he said as he gave me a stiff bow and walked away.

Hugo and I had been put in adjoining rooms, as I feared, but there was no help for it, and after Edmund’s warning, I wasn’t as put out as before. I got undressed with Polly’s help, washed my face free of make-up, pulled out the multitude of pins holding my coiffure together, slipped on a nightdress, and crawled into bed.  I was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily.  I firmly put thoughts of what might be happening at home out of my mind, focusing on my escape.  I could probably manage to slip out of the house, but even if I got to the stables, highjacked a horse, and actually got away undetected, I had no idea how to get back to where I needed to be, especially in the dark. 

I tried to remember the way, but we’d been traveling all day and took more than one fork in the road.  I’d be hopelessly lost within an hour, alone in the middle of the night with no protection and no money.  I knew enough about the seventeenth century to realize that a woman alone was fair game and that although I didn’t have much to steal, I could be raped or even killed, so I finally conceded that I had to stay.  Sooner or later Hugo would return home and I would seize my opportunity then.  I only hoped that it would be sooner rather than later.

It must have been well past midnight by the time Hugo finally returned to his room.  I was still awake, and I saw the glow of his candle beneath the door to his room.  I hoped he would just go to bed, but he had other ideas.  Hugo tiptoed into the room and set the candle on the nightstand by the bed.  He was wearing nothing but a shirt and I clearly saw the outline of his body as he turned to blow out the candle.  I felt the mattress sag as his full weight settled on the bed.  I must have tensed because Hugo moved a little to the side to put some space between us.

“I am a man of my word,” he said, eyeing me in the dark, “I won’t touch you.”

“So why couldn’t you just sleep in your room?” I whispered, inching away from him.

“Because our host would find that suspicious, and I don’t wish to give him any cause to doubt me or to view it as an invitation to visit your room himself.  You are quite safe, I assure you.  By the by, you were a runaway success tonight, my sweet,” he said, smiling in the dark.  “Sir Benedict was very taken with you.  He even suggested that I leave you here as a token of my good will in return for his support when the time comes.”

“What?”

He chuckled, but didn’t reply right away.  Instead, he made himself more comfortable, folded his hands across his stomach and pretended to go to sleep.

“What did you tell him?” I hissed, terrified that Hugo had agreed.

“I told him that you have captured my heart, and I would not part with you for any reason.  He was somewhat put out, but I think he will get over it by morning.”   

  Hugo closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes, but I wasn’t as lucky.  I hadn’t slept with anyone but Evan in years, so lying in bed next to a strange man was awkward, to say the least.  Hugo smelled of brandy, wood smoke from the fireplace, and his own slightly musky smell that made me scoot to the other side of the bed until I was practically hanging off.  I knew he was naked under the shirt, as I was naked under my nightdress, and I found the thought to be utterly disturbing. 

“Go to sleep,” Hugo suddenly said.  I could hear the amusement in his voice, but he never opened his eyes or moved any closer. 

“I can’t.”

“Need help?” he asked with a chuckle.

“No, thank you.”  I turned on my side facing away from him and pretended to go to sleep.  I was certain he knew I was faking it, but it didn’t matter.  Fake it till you make it, Evan always said, and eventually it worked.

April 1685

I woke up just as the first rays of sun tried to sneak between the closed shutters, providing just enough pearlescent light to bring the objects in the room into dim focus.  The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and my breath came out in white puffs as I snuggled deeper under the quilt.  I was surprisingly warm and snug, probably thanks to Evan’s body heat.  My back and legs were pressed against him, his arm casually thrown over my side and gently cupping my lower abdomen, his pelvis right up against my lower back.  I could feel his arousal and moved against him suggestively just to be a tease. 

“Good morning to you, too.”  I nearly jumped out of my skin as I suddenly remembered exactly where I was and with whom.  This wasn’t a dream of the eighteenth-century inn Evan and I stayed at when we took a little holiday last year; this was frighteningly real, and the man next to me wasn’t Evan, but my captor.  I elbowed Hugo in the stomach, and he moved away from me with a groan that sounded more like a laugh. 

“I didn’t want you to get cold during the night.  The room became glacial once the fire went out,” he said with an expression of perfect innocence on his face.

“How kind of you,” I spat out.  “Do you think you might be persuaded to go back to your own room while I wash and dress?”

Hugo gave me a look that made me blush with embarrassment.  He guessed I was dying to pee and didn’t want him to watch me using the pot.  Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a private bathroom and a hot shower right about now.  He was right though; the room was freezing, the chill seeping through the walls and ill-fitting shutters, the air acrid with the smell of ashes from the fireplace. 

Hugo got out of bed and walked to the door without turning.  “I’ll leave you to it,” he called out as he closed the door behind him.  I jumped out of bed and seized the chamber pot as if it were the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Funny how nothing seemed important when there were certain physical needs to be taken care of.

I dove back into bed, my feet icy after only a few moments against the cold floor.  If it was this cold in March, how cold was it in the dead of winter?  I’d never realized how much we took for granted in our modern lives: running water, heat, and especially light.  No matter how many candles were lit during the evening, the rooms were dim and full of shadows; the faces swallowed by the darkness the moment they receded from the feeble circle of light.  No wonder Jem liked to sleep in the kitchen and get hot buns in the morning.  It was the warmest place in the house where the food was always hot, not barely warm as it was by the time it actually made it to the table. 

I braced myself for the arctic temperature and jumped out of bed, determined to at least wash my face and hands, rinse my mouth, and possibly wash a few other parts as well.  My resolve was quickly forgotten as I saw the thin layer of ice on the water in the pitcher, deciding that perhaps hygiene wasn’t as important as not freezing to death. 

“Good morning, madam,” Polly cheerfully called out as she carefully entered the room, carrying a steaming pitcher of water and a small tray laden with breakfast, which she set down on the round table currently housing the pitcher and ewer.  It was some kind of porridge, but it least it was warm. 

“What time is it, Polly?” I asked as I gratefully sank my hands into the warm water. 

“Oh, it’s likely gone eight, madam.  Yon men were up hours ago and breakfasted already.  They’re readying the horses, and yon little page is rearing to go.  Sweet lad, he is.”

“And smart, too,” I remarked, smiling at the unbidden image of Jem sitting by the roaring hearth and stuffing his face with fresh bread and hot porridge.

The mud in the yard was coated with a layer of ice, which cracked loudly as the horses’ hooves stepped on it and broke it into minuscule shards as sharp as glass.  The horses snorted, unnerved by the slippery ground, their ears pressed back and their eyes rolling in their heads as they trod carefully over the frozen earth.  A deceptively bright sun hung cheerfully above our heads, making the ice sparkle, the crystals dancing with light and mirroring the bright glare of the windows. 

“There’s always one last frost before the winter gives way to spring,” Peter said wisely as he led my horse to the mounting block.  The thought of spending another day in the saddle was paramount to torture, but I mounted the horse and hung on for dear life as it picked its way toward the gates and the road beyond.

Sir Benedict had invited us to stay for another day, but Hugo politely refused, telling him we had some business to complete before returning home for Easter.  At least now I knew when he planned to go back to Cranley, information that gave me that tiny bit of control over an untenable situation.  Easter was in three weeks; so it was three weeks until I had a chance at escape, and three weeks of cohabitating with Hugo Everly.

A sneaky wind managed to get beneath my skirts and into the folds of my cloak, filling the fabric with air and making me look like a ship in full sail, a fact that the men remarked on with glee, eliciting a hearty laugh from Jem.  I tried to pull the cloak tighter around me, but there was nothing to fasten it with other than the clasp at the throat.  The wind kept blowing the hood off my head, leaving my ears red and numb with cold.  My back and legs were sore from riding; my head ached, and my eyes wept salty tears from the bitter gusts.  How I wished I could be at home, on the sofa in front of the telly with a hot cup of tea and a few of my favorite chocolate biscuits. 

“Neve?”

I looked up at the sound of my name, suddenly realizing that I’d been wallowing in my trance of misery for some time and probably hadn’t heard him calling me before.

“Are you all right?” Hugo asked, a look of concern on his face.  “You don’t look at all well.”

“I’m very cold… and achy, and hungry,” I admitted.  I wasn’t normally a complainer, but I was feeling sorry for myself, and it was all Hugo’s fault anyway, so I felt no need to spare his feelings. 

“There should be an inn at the next village.  We’ll stop there,” he promised and gave me a weak smile.  “Come, ride next to me.  Conversation helps pass the time, and you look lonely.”

I was.  I’d never felt so alone in my life.  I enjoyed occasional solitude, but I always knew that friends were just a phone call or a tube ride away.  Now I was in a place where I knew no one and no one knew me.  There was no one to call; no one to turn to for help.  If I died here, no one would know or care.   I would simply vanish off the face of the earth as if I never existed, leaving nothing behind in my modern life but some books, clothes, and a handful of people who would mourn me for a time – or not.  I had no husband, no children, and no extended family.  There was no one I felt tethered to or who would feel the loss of me in any kind of deep emotional way.  People would briefly wonder what happened to me and then get on with their own lives, pushing the memory of me away, as human beings tended to do with unpleasant and unresolved things.

I wished I could tell Hugo all that, but I had to keep silent for my own safety.  Instead, I pulled my horse closer to his and rode in silence for a few moments while I composed myself.  I smiled in surprise as Hugo held out an oat cake to me.

“It’s all I’ve got, but it might tide you over until the village.  I always bring a few cakes for Ronan when we go on long rides.  He likes to feel appreciated.”  Hugo’s horse gave me a resentful stare as I bit into the cake, but I ignored it and chewed gratefully.  It wasn’t very tasty, but better than the horrible porridge of this morning.

“Were you able to enlist Sir Benedict’s support?” I asked as I finished the cake and licked the crumbs off my fingers.  Hugo smiled at me indulgently as if I were an adorable child and shook his head.

“Sir Benedict is a shrewd man who will not commit to anything unless he’s sure of its success.  He professed support for Monmouth, but once a rebellion is under way he will see which way the wind is blowing before declaring his support publicly.  If Monmouth is sure to win, Benedict will say the duke had his support all along.  If he looks to be losing, Benedict will very loudly exalt the king and condemn the bastard upstart.  He did, however, make a contribution to Monmouth’s coffers, which is the most I can hope for at this time.”

“Is that the feeling of most people, that Monmouth is a bastard upstart?” I asked.

“No.  There are those who are openly in support of Monmouth and will take up arms and risk all to see him succeed.  Most people, however, will wait to declare their allegiance.  They have too much to lose.”

“And you?  Don’t you have anything to lose?”  I was curious about this man and what drove him.  I could understand a desire for religious freedom, but I sensed there was more to his resolve – something more personal.

“I have nothing to lose,” Hugo replied flatly.

“How come you never married?”  I suppose it was a rude and prying question, but I wanted to know.  He had to be in his mid-thirties, and a man of that age in the seventeenth century would most certainly have a family, unless they died and he was the only survivor, and even then he’d be likely to remarry very quickly.

“I have,” Hugo replied.  I could see the tensing of his jaw and the grim set of his mouth, but I was too curious to desist.

“And is your wife…?”  I let the sentence trail off unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to ask.  It seemed callous to just ask if she were dead; besides, had he been married it would have shown up in the family records, but Max said that Hugo hadn’t been wed.

“Alive and well,” he replied as he skewered me with his gaze, “and married to someone else.”

“But you are Catholic; you don’t believe in divorce, do you?” 

“No, I don’t, which is why I still consider myself married,” Hugo said with a shrug.  I could see the bitterness in his face, but now that I knew, he felt the need to explain.

“Catherine and I met at Court while my father was still alive.  She was hardly more than a child then, but I’d got it into my head that I was going to marry her.  She was so lovely and so pure.  The fact that her family was one of the oldest Catholic families in England also contributed to my decision.  I wanted my wife to share my faith and raise our children in the Church.  My father kept our religion a secret, convinced that one day the tolerant attitude of the king would be tested and criticized.  He was right, of course.  His wish was that I marry a Protestant, but then again, his faith was never very strong.  My father worshiped power and freedom and was willing to bow to whatever God happened to be in fashion at the time.  He thought it would be politically beneficial to play both sides.”

“Your father sounds a hard man,” I said, trying to picture a young, lovesick Hugo and the man who wanted to use his marriage to further his own ambitions.

“He could be harsh, but he knew what he was about, and there were many times after his death that I realized that he had been right all along.  We argued incessantly, him and I, and he went to his grave thinking that I didn’t love or respect him, a fact I have to live with.”

“So you married your Catherine anyway?”

“Catherine and I married in secret after my father died.  Had I married before, he would have disinherited me and I’d have had nothing to offer her.  Like my own father, her father was against the marriage.  He had someone else in mind for her and the marriage negotiations were already under way, so I had to act fast.  I finally convinced her to marry me.  I was sure that once we were wed her father would accept me and everything would turn out well, especially since her family would want to avoid a taint on Catherine’s reputation at all cost.”

“What happened?” I asked.  It seemed like Hugo had thought things through, but the marriage obviously fell apart.

“Two weeks after we were married, Catherine’s father had the marriage annulled and had her married off to the man of his choice.”  I could hear the anger in Hugo’s voice.  He was still hurt after all these years.

“On what grounds?”

“Non-consummation,” he spat out.

“Did you not…?” I let the sentence hang, suddenly uncomfortable about prying into his personal life.

“Oh, I did,” he retorted.  “Many times, but Catherine’s father, Lord Wessex, bribed a physician to proclaim my wife virgo intacta after subjecting her to the humiliation of an examination.  Not only was she not a virgin, she was already with child, but of course, it was too soon to tell.”

“I’m sorry, Hugo.  Did she not resist her father?”

“She thought that her father would accept me once we married, but she wasn’t ready for a rift with her family.  Her father wouldn’t even hear of accepting the marriage.  Catherine’s betrothed was a duke, a man with vast estates bordering her father’s to the north.  Her father wanted to procure a better title for his only daughter and consolidate the estates after his death, making Catherine and her husband one of the richest and most influential couples in Christendom.  Had he had a son to inherit, we might have stood a chance.”

“What of the child?” I asked, feeling a surge of pity for him.

“The baby died in infancy.  A girl.  I never even saw her.  Catherine bore her husband four healthy sons since,” Hugo replied bitterly.

“Do you still love her?” I asked softly, watching the emotions shift in his face.

“No.  Yes.  No. I don’t know.”

“So, which is it?”

“I don’t love the woman she is today.  I love the girl she was when she married me.  She was so beautiful and sweet.  I’d have done anything to make her happy, but she never gave me a chance.  She went off with her father like an obedient puppy, without a backward glance.  She could have defied him; she could have trusted me to love her.  He’d have come around in time; I’m sure of it.”  Hugo turned to me, and it broke my heart to see the sadness in his eyes.  Not only did this girl break his heart, but she destroyed his chances of marrying again. The annulment wasn’t valid due to the fact that the marriage had been consummated, so in Hugo’s mind he was married until one of them died.

“And what about you?” he asked.  “What of your family?”  I knew this question would come sooner or later.  A woman of my age would almost certainly be married or widowed, and would have borne children.  Hugo was too tactful to ask me outright, but he wanted to know more about the woman who had the power to destroy him.  I wondered what he would say if he knew that I’d lived with a man without the benefit of marriage, and then miscarried a baby whom he hadn’t wanted.  Would he think less of me?  Why did I care anyway? I asked myself angrily.

“No, there’s no one,” I replied instead.

“Had you never married?” Hugo asked.

“No, no one ever asked.”  Which was the truth.  I expected Hugo to make some caustic remark, but he just gazed at me with a look of such sympathy that I nearly burst into tears.  I was glad to see the chimneys of the village come into view.  I was no longer hungry, but I felt frozen, mostly inside.