The Passage (28 page)

“Want for nothing?” I repeated stupidly.  “But I want you.  Don’t you see, this is exactly what I predicted?   This is it, Hugo.”

“Neve, this is an arrest, not a conviction.  I’ve destroyed anything that can link me to the other conspirators.  If I can beat the charge of treason, the other two charges don’t carry a death penalty.  Finch is alive and well, and perhaps I can find a way to justify the abduction.  Please, don’t worry about me. England has the best justice system in the world.” 

I nearly burst into hysterical laughter.  The modus operandi of the British justice system in the seventeenth century was to execute first and ask questions later.  Hugo had almost killed Lionel Finch in his own home, abducted his wife, and openly solicited support for Monmouth’s Rebellion.  He was guilty as charged, and we both knew it.  I glanced down the hill toward the church.  It was less than a quarter-mile away.

I stared at the church, an idea beginning to form in my terrified brain.  This was it.  This was the start of whatever was going to happen to Hugo, and there was only one way to stop it.  Once the soldiers got Hugo to London there’d be no way to help him, even if the most competent defense lawyer could be found.  Hugo was guilty, and I had no doubt that Finch would produce as many witnesses as he needed.  He had coin, which was all the persuading some people required to pervert the course of justice, not that Finch’s accusations weren’t just under the law of the land.

I had to do something, and I had to do it this very minute before the other two came back.  Memories of my miscarriage were still fresh in my mind, and I tried to recall the pain and the terror I felt, putting everything into my performance.  I swayed, my hands flying to my belly as I doubled over, gasping and panting with pain.  “Oh God,” I wailed, “I think I’m bleeding.  Help me.  Please, get the midwife from the village.”  I didn’t wait for the men to react as I began to fall, hoping that Hugo would catch me before I hit the ground.  He did.  I felt awful for what I was doing to him, but I had no choice.  I screamed as if my body was being torn apart, a new life being expunged from my womb, the miscarriage caused by the shock of having my lover arrested.

“You’re better off losing yer brat, ye silly trollop,” the pimply youth sniggered.  “Who needs another bastard who’ll never meet its sire and have to live with the stain of his treachery?”

“Shut your mouth and go for the midwife,” Captain Humphries barked as I continued to writhe in Hugo’s arms, my eyes rolling into the back of my head with supposed agony.  Hugo looked terrified as he tried to talk to me, unsure if what I was experiencing was real and I hadn’t told him or just a ruse.  “Neve, can you hear me?  What can I do?”

“Take me to the church,” I mouthed.  “Now.  I need to get to the church.”

Hugo lifted me up and turned toward the church, but Captain Humphries was instantly in front of us, blocking our path.  “You will remain here until the midwife comes,” he ordered, clearly unnerved by what he was witnessing. 

“I will take Mistress Ashley to the church where she can be more comfortable and have access to Reverend Snow, should it become necessary.  Now, get out of my way,” Hugo barked, really angry now.

“I order you to halt,” Humphries spat out, reaching for his sword.

“Or what?  You will kill me for trying to help a pregnant woman?” 

I could feel the tension coursing through Hugo as he stepped around the dancing horse and walked quickly toward the church.  I was still clutching my stomach and gasping with pain, then slumped like a rag doll against Hugo’s chest.  The captain seemed somewhat at a loss.  As a gentleman, he felt a duty to help me, but as a soldier, he was bound to carry out his orders.  His hesitation cost him dearly, since by the time he dismounted and reached the church we were already inside the church porch. 

“Stop,” Humphries roared, but Hugo stepped into the porch and turned to face the irate captain.

“Sanctuary,” he called out, his voice clear and calm.

“You bitch,” Humphries growled as he realized that he’d been duped.  “You go on and claim sanctuary.  Much good it will do you.  I will have this church surrounded day and night and no one, you hear me, no one will be able to bring you food or water.  I will starve you out, and once I have you, I will take you both to London, and I promise you, your lordship, your lady will have a most uncomfortable journey.  I will give her to my men to share and make you watch as punishment for what you’ve just done.  You have my word of honor, sir.”

“Do what you must,” Hugo replied and kicked open the door to the church, carrying me into the dim interior.  He set me down on one of the pews and kissed my brow.  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

I tried to sit up, but my heart was racing and I truly felt faint.  I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths in order to calm myself.  I’d imagined all kinds of scenarios, but this hadn’t been one of them.  I’d gotten Hugo to the church, but now there was only one thing I could do.  Hugo sat down next to me and pulled me close in an effort to steady me.  He seemed calm, but I knew that inside he must be aware of the implications of what we’d just done.  Things looked very grim.

“Neve, there’s no way out.  Humphries meant what he said.  He will starve us out, so going into sanctuary will buy us only a few days at most,” Hugo said gently.  “I know you meant well, but we are trapped.  I will surrender myself to Humphries on the condition that he let you go unmolested.  Go to Brad.  He knows what to do.”

“Hugo, there’s a reason I maneuvered you toward the church, and it wasn’t because I wanted to go into sanctuary.  I can get you out of here,” I breathed, terrified of what I was about to do.  I got to my feet and took Hugo’s hand. 

  “Hugo, just trust me on this one.” I pulled Hugo toward the door to the crypt, praying that the passage was open and nothing had happened in the past month to prevent us from leaving.

“There’s no way out from the crypt,” Hugo insisted as he followed me through the door.  “Neve, this might be the last private moment we have.  Let me say goodbye properly,” he said as he tried to turn me around.

“Hugo, please; just follow me,” I hissed at him.  I pulled him through the dark crypt toward where I knew the passage to be.  I prayed fervently as I groped in the dark for the tiny knob that opened the doorway.  I heard Hugo’s gasp as the stone door slid open, revealing the dimly lit steps leading upward.  I pushed Hugo though the door and pushed the knob, closing the passage behind us. 

And now I knew exactly how Hugo Everly had disappeared.

Hugo was just about to say something when we emerged into the church, which was thankfully empty.  Brilliant light shone through the Jubilee window, sending rainbows of color onto the wooden pews and the stone floor of the church.  I heard Hugo’s sharp intake of breath, but I didn’t have time to explain.  We needed to get away and fast.  I knew exactly the place, but it was imperative that we get out of the church unseen.  My hold-all hadn’t been behind the knight’s tomb where I left it, so I knew that my disappearance was known.  The police might be looking for me, so for them to find me dressed in a seventeenth-century gown with a man who had no identification would not bode well for either of us. 

I pushed open the side door that led into the graveyard and beckoned Hugo to follow.  He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes glued to where he expected Everly Manor to be.  It was still there, but completely overshadowed by the new house which sat proudly atop the hill.  From our vantage point, I could see activity by the museum, people coming and going, various vehicles parked in the car park, and two cars just exiting the gates of the new manor house.  Shooting was obviously already in progress; the place overrun with crew and actors. 

Hugo watched silently as the cars sped away from the manor and disappeared around the bend.  He sank down on a stone bench by one of the graves, a mournful-looking angel gazing down on him with undisguised pity.  “Neve, I don’t understand,” he mumbled.  “Is this some kind of witchery?  What have you done?”

I sat down next to him and put my palms on his cold cheeks, forcing him to look me in the eye.  He was clammy to the touch, and his pupils were dilated with panic.  He’d been perfectly calm when faced with arrest and imminent execution, but this was so far beyond his realm of understanding that his defenses finally broke down and he looked ready to faint.  It was hard enough going into the past even if you knew something of the history and customs; having seen the way people lived in films and read about in books.  But, to go into the future and be confronted with things you’d never even imagined, much less seen, would be infinitely more difficult.  I would have to tread carefully when explaining myself, but at this moment I needed to get Hugo to a safe place.

“Hugo, listen to me.  I will explain everything just as soon as I’m able, but right now, we need to get away from here.  I know a place where we can hide until nightfall.  Get hold of yourself, man,” I said more sternly as he continued to sit there.

“And what happens after nightfall?” he finally asked as he roused himself and followed me from the graveyard.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I replied in a light tone.  “This wasn’t exactly the plan, was it?”

“Was there a plan?”

“Yes, we were going to go to France, get married, and live happily ever after,” I quipped in an effort to make him smile, but the jest was lost on him.

“Is this where you came from?” Hugo asked, his head swiveling as he tried to take in his surroundings which were so familiar, yet so different.

“Yes, it is.”

Hugo didn’t say anything else; he simply walked beside me like an automaton, looking around him with awe.  I maneuvered him into the woods as soon as I could, trying to remember the exact location of the hunting lodge.  Max had shown it to me when I first came, but I wasn’t interested in the structure since it was built long after the time period of our film.  It was a Victorian addition to the estate, one that saw many hunts and informal meals, but had been rarely used on such a grand scale since the First World War.  Max’s father, Roland, went there often, according to Max, so the place was kept up and stocked with food.  I wasn’t sure if anyone had actually been there since Roland’s death.  A key was kept, predictably, under the flower pot by the door, which made it unnecessary for us to break in.

The lodge was just as I remembered it; a two-storied wooden structure with several stone chimneys and numerous gables that jutted out every which way.  It reminded me of the cottage of the seven dwarfs from Snow White, hidden from view by the tall trees which had grown unchecked for the past several hundred years.  There were several outbuildings, one having been the stables for the horses, an ice-house, and a shed.  All were presumably empty now since no one had used the lodge in years.

Roland Everly had been an amateur taxidermist and kept a workshop at the lodge.  His wife, understandably, forbade him from practicing his hobby at the manor, so he spent many hours at his hideaway in the gruesome pursuit of the perfect stuffed animal.  His handiwork was everywhere; glassy eyes staring from every wall as we entered the house.  I meant to stay in control, but as I sank down onto the sofa by the cold hearth I began to shake, tears streaming down my face as I wrapped my arms around Hugo.  His response was somewhat wooden, but he held me and let me cry it out before dealing with his own confusion.

I finally pulled myself together and went in search of the bathroom.  I saw Hugo’s look of shock as I turned on the water and splashed it over my puffy face.  He came in behind me and stuck his hand under the warm water, his face registering pure amazement.

“It’s warm,” he said.  “Where is it coming from?”  I shocked him further by flipping the light switch.  Electric light flooded the small bathroom, bringing into stark relief our faces in the mirror.  Mine was blotchy; Hugo’s was ashen.  He bent his head and looked under the light fixture where an innocent little bulb burned bright and steady. 

“That’s called electricity,” I explained.  My voice sounded shaky, but it was easier to focus on trivial things rather than go into an explanation of what had occurred only half an hour ago. 

“What’s that?” Hugo asked, pointing to the commode.

“It’s a toilet.  It flushes.  Look.”  I flushed the toilet, and we both watched as the water gushed and swirled in the bowl. 

“Hmm,” was all that Hugo said.  I turned off the light and walked to the kitchen.  As I expected, there was nothing in the fridge, but I did find several tins of biscuits which were miraculously not expired, and an unopened box of tea bags.  There was even some sugar.  It looked questionable, but it’d have to do.  It would have been nice to have some milk, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, I reminded myself. 

I found the tea kettle and put it on to boil while I washed two mugs and found a plate for the biscuits.  Hugo just watched in amazement as I turned on the stove, but didn’t comment.  I think he knew I was stalling, so he went back into the front room and began leafing through a hunting magazine from a few years ago.  I could see him through the doorway, and couldn’t help smiling at the expressions passing over his face.  I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was feeling.  I had gone back into the past knowing exactly what to expect, but Hugo literally went down the rabbit hole.  He had no warning, no books and pictures to look at, no movies that depicted life in the future.  He’d had no inkling of what was to come.  I actually had to admire his reserve.  I would have been running in circles and screaming by now, but he just sat there calmly, waiting for me to finally explain. 

I poured tea into the mugs, added a generous helping of sugar and placed a dozen biscuits onto the plate, before bringing the tray into the front room and setting it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” I warned Hugo as I handed him a mug. 

“What is it?” he looked at the brown liquid with suspicion.

“It’s called tea.  It comes from China and India.  It’s the most popular drink in Britain.  You can have it black, with or without sugar, with milk or with a slice of lemon.”  I suddenly felt foolish and closed my mouth.  Here Hugo was, shocked, scared, confused, and I was prattling on about tea.  Hugo took an experimental sip and set the mug down. 

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s strange,” he said and reached for a biscuit, which he finished in two bites.  “So, are you going to explain or do we just pretend that nothing happened?”  He picked up the mug carefully and took another sip, swirling the tea in his mouth in an effort to experience its full flavor.  It seemed to make a better impression the second time around and he took another sip.

“I don’t know where to begin,” I said.

“Begin at the beginning, if there is one.  If not, start with the day I found you.”

“I suppose the beginning would be my birth in 1986, but that’s neither here nor there,” I said with a nervous giggle. 

“1986?”  I was glad Hugo had already swallowed the tea, or things would have gotten messy.  “What year is this?”

“It’s 2013.  Twenty-first century.”

“Go on.”  Hugo calmly reached for another biscuit, but I could see a slight tremor in his hand.  He was doing his best to keep it together, and I felt overwhelming sympathy for him, but knew that feeling sorry for him was not what he needed right now.  I had to give him an explanation that made sense, or at least sounded plausible. 

“Hugo, I came to Everly Manor at the beginning of March as part of my job.”

“Yes, I work,” I added in response to his questioning stare.  “I’m a location scout for a movie production company.  A movie is kind of like a theater play, but it’s filmed and shown on a screen rather than performed live.  Many movies are shot on location, so scouts go to various possible locales and choose the one that’s most appropriate and fits into the production budget.”

Hugo didn’t say anything, so I continued.  “While I was down in the crypt, taking pictures –- that’s like a painting that you can capture on film -– for a scene that was to be shot down there, I accidentally pressed against one of the flower carvings in the wall behind the knight’s tomb.  It opened a passage.  I had no idea that the passage led anywhere other than another part of the church, but when I came up the steps, I saw you, and the church as it was in the seventeenth century.”

“So you followed me?” Hugo asked, sounding more curious than angry.

“No.  I fled back down the steps to the crypt in a panic.  I thought I’d experienced some kind of hallucination.  You see, I knew who you were.  Max – that’s the current Lord Everly – showed me your portrait and told me of the mystery surrounding your disappearance.  No one knew what had happened to you.  You simply vanished one day in May of 1685.”

“Am I correct in assuming that I vanished to the twenty-first century?” Hugo asked.  I was glad to see that he was smiling at the absurdity of it all. 

“I suppose so, but I didn’t know that at the time.  I went back through the passage just to prove to myself that what I saw that first time was real.  That was the day you nearly ran me down.”

“And when you ran away you went back home?” Hugo asked.

“Yes, but I kept thinking about you and Jane, and I felt awful for just disappearing like that, especially when I knew what was in store for you.  I came back to warn you.  That’s all I wanted to do.  And you prevented me from leaving.”

“So, you don’t have “the Sight,” you have actual knowledge,” he correctly deduced.

“That’s right.  I knew exactly what was going to happen.  It’s all been copiously documented.”

“How did you know about Jane?  Was that copiously documented somewhere as well?”  Leave it to Hugo to focus on the one thing I didn’t really want to explain.

“No, it wasn’t.  I don’t know how I knew about that.  I just did.  It sort of came to me, but I knew from your reaction that it was true.”

Hugo set down his mug and stood up, going to the window.  He stood with his back to me for a few minutes, digesting what I had just told him.  I could see the rigid set of his shoulders and the proud way he held his head.  He was feeling defiant and angry, and I couldn’t blame him.  I wanted to say something to reassure him that I didn’t trick him or lie to him, but it wouldn’t do any good.  He had to see that for himself. 

Hugo finally turned to face me, his anger under control.  “Neve, I bear some of the responsibility for what happened to you, and you have, without question, saved my life.  I would have been executed had I been taken into custody, but I simply can’t comprehend any of this.  Do people in the twenty-first century routinely travel through time?  Has the world really come so far in its exploration of scientific matters or is this some kind of black magic?  And if such a thing is possible, can I go back if I wish, and would I return to exactly the same time that I left?  Is there a way to navigate, or do you simply show up sometime in the past?  You were able to come back three times to the same time period, so you must have controlled it somehow.”

I had to admit that for a man of the seventeenth century, his mind was processing this admirably well and coming back with all the right questions.  I’d asked all those questions myself and was no closer to an answer. 

“Hugo, the honest answer is that I simply don’t know.  There are some theories about ley lines.  Points where they intersect are supposed to hold some power, but none of that has actually been proven or put to the test.  I’m not aware of navigating through time, but you were on my mind, so it’s possible that I somehow influenced where I wound up, but I strongly doubt it.  I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I was taking pictures down in the crypt.  If anything, I was wondering about the knight whose tomb I was photographing, so I suppose I should be thankful I didn’t end up joining the Crusades.  I couldn’t deal with desert heat,” I said, in a failed attempt at a joke.

“I assume you can go back if you wish, but you will be arrested and taken to the Tower.  I couldn’t bear to lose you, Hugo, especially not in the horrific way they executed traitors.  You know what would happen to you, don’t you?  Hanging or beheading would be a blessing compared to the torture that you would be put through.”