The Passage (33 page)

Hugo sat down on a bale of hay, rested his head against the sun-warmed wood, and closed his eyes.  The smell of horses was in his nose, but he didn’t mind.  It reminded him of home and the life he’d left behind.  He tried not to burden Neve with his feelings, but sometimes when he was alone, like now, he couldn’t help feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him.  Truth be told, Hugo really liked the twenty-first century.  Everything seemed strangely accelerated and bewildering at first, but he’d gotten used to the constant movement of vehicles all around him and the sounds of modern life.  The seventeenth-century was so quiet by comparison.  Here, there were sounds everywhere: traffic, blaring horns, music playing in shops, restaurants, and open car windows, multitudes of people walking, talking on their mobiles, singing along to their iPods, the rumbling of the tube, and the revving of double-decker buses as they passed him on the street.  He found it all overwhelming at first, but now it was just background noise, the soundtrack of a busy life. 

Having a little money in his pocket made Hugo feel marginally better, but what he was making wasn’t enough to live on or support a family; not that he could have a family.  As a non-entity, he couldn’t legally marry Neve, not even in a church; he’d asked Father Martin. The priest likely thought he was a bit strange, but never allowed his feelings to get in the way.  He offered whatever comfort he could, and when Hugo asked for the sacrament of confession, did so with all the pomp due his office.  Hugo couldn’t tell him the whole truth, of course, but he did confess that he was in the country illegally and couldn’t secure a good job or take any kind of course that might make him more proficient in modern technology.

Father Martin told him that it wasn’t a sin to want a better life, and that many before him had tried to immigrate illegally in the hopes of a more promising future. 
If only he knew
, Hugo thought ruefully.  Well, at least he was still alive; which was something, especially today of all days.  It was July 15; the day James Crofts, Duke of Monmouth was beheaded on Tower Hill in 1685 following the failure of his short-lived rebellion.  Hugo would have been executed right alongside him had Neve not spirited him away the way she had.  He was grateful, of course, but the thought of living his life on the fringes of society, never earning enough to support a family, and never being able to practice any of the freedoms this wonderful new world afforded was a terrible irony. 

Hugo took a drink of cold water and went to change his clothes.  The day was over, and the stables were closing in a few minutes.  He wished Dmitri and the other lads a pleasant evening and set off across Hyde Park.  Hugo enjoyed his evening walk; it gave him time to rein in his thoughts and feelings before coming home to Neve, who gazed at him in that searching way in an effort to gauge his mood.  She wasn’t the same woman he’d met only a few months ago.  In the seventeenth century, she’d been frightened and defiant, but she wasn’t defeated.  Now she looked as if the world was resting squarely on her shoulders, and he couldn’t take that.  How long would she be willing to live with a man who couldn’t give her a proper life?

A conversation they had last night as they lay in bed returned to haunt Hugo as he walked past the glittering ribbon of the Serpentine, winding through the park like a mythical pathway to a better world. 
But this was the better world
, Hugo thought bitterly; only he couldn’t truly be a part of it.  Neve had asked him what he’d want to do had he been born in the twentieth century, and the question had stumped Hugo.  There were so many choices for a young person in this day and age.  When he’d been young, his only choice had been to follow in his father’s footsteps and pander to the king, or just play the lord of the manor and spend his days in pursuit of pleasure while others toiled on his estate and filled the coffers. 

“I think I’d like to have been a doctor,” Hugo replied, surprising Neve. 

“Really?  I thought you might have wanted to be an engineer or even a policeman.  You have such a desire to see justice done.”  She snuggled closer to him, enjoying her little fantasy.

“You are right, both of those occupations are high on the list, but my first choice would be medicine,” Hugo replied, trying to picture himself as a healer. 

“Why?” Neve asked. 

“I never told you how my mother died, have I?” Hugo asked, not really wishing to relive those horrible days, but wanting Neve to understand why he felt so strongly about his choice. 

“You said she died in childbirth,” Neve replied quietly.

“So she did.  But before she died, she suffered as no human being should ever have to.  I remember hearing her screams echo through the house day after day as she tried to bring the child into the world.  I was too young to understand any of it, but I knew something was horribly wrong.  Jane was almost two at the time, and she cried and cried, sensing as children do that something dreadful was happening.  The child was coming down the wrong way, you see, and every time it so much as moved downward, it was pulled up again.  My father took me out on the estate, something he never did because he thought me a nuisance, but he felt it his duty to remove me from the house.  He told me many years later that the cord had been wrapped around the baby’s neck, preventing it from being born.  Of course, the child died, as did my mother after four agonizing days of labor.  She literally bled to death as the child tore her apart.”

“Oh, Hugo, that’s horrible,” Neve breathed, no doubt imagining the scene.

“Had there been a qualified doctor, the kind you have in this century, my mother would have lived and so would my baby brother.  I wouldn’t have lost her at four years old, left with a sister who was too young to share my grief, and a father who was too cold and controlled to show me any sympathy or affection.  I howled for days after my mother passed, until my father threatened to whip me if I didn’t stop.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, but I never stopped mourning on the inside.  I begged God every night that he would give my mother back to me, and in a strange way, he did.  I started having dreams of her.  She came to me as I slept, telling me that she loved me and would watch over me for the rest of my life.  She looked happy and beautiful in the dreams, her voice soft and melodious, just the way it had sounded when she used to talk to me before I fell asleep.  My mother wasn’t one of those women who birthed a child, passed it on to the nurse, and forgot about it until it could walk and talk.  She genuinely loved Jane and me.”

“Is that why you took in Jem?  Because you understood how he felt?”

“I came to the house after Jem’s mother died to find him huddled in a corner, crying as the women laid her out for burial.  No one paid much attention to him, and I knew that once his mother was put in the ground this child would be lost.  He’d die of disease or neglect, but he’d never see adulthood.  So, I took him away with me.  Jem doesn’t seem to remember that time.  He slept in my bed for two weeks after the funeral and often thought I was his mother when he woke in the middle of the night.  I was a very poor substitute, but I was happy to have been able to offer him some comfort.  Jane actually relegated him to the kitchens once she came.  She didn’t think it appropriate to have Jem living in my room, but I didn’t mind.  I miss him,” Hugo sighed.  “I can’t imagine how sad he is thinking me dead.”

“Do you miss Jane as well?” Neve asked, probably to distract his mind from Jem.

“I do, but not in the same way.  Jane’s lived with her husband for the past thirteen years, so I saw her infrequently, and I saw Clarence even less.  He was always in the nursery or at his lessons.  He will make a good master once he reaches maturity.  He’s a smart and hard-working boy.”

Thinking of Clarence brought Hugo’s mind to Max.  Max Everly was the direct descendant of Clarence, the product of Hugo’s treason and subsequent disappearance.  Strange how life worked, especially when you were granted a chance to see for yourself how it all turned out. 
Neve could have had Max, murderous villain though he was
, thought Hugo bitterly.  He’d seen the look of lust in Max’s eyes as he stared at Neve in her modern clothes.  He’d wanted her, and wanted her badly, and could never forgive her for choosing Hugo instead.  Had she chosen Max, Neve could have been Lady Everly, and now she was just plain Neve Ashley, unwed, unprotected, and financially unsupported by her man.  Perhaps the best thing to do would be to set her free.  Hugo could always just disappear one day, or go back to his old life and let himself be arrested and taken to the Tower.  Perhaps now that Monmouth was dead they’d be more lenient if enough money changed hands, although he’d be branded a traitor, and his family would be shamed by association.  He couldn’t do that to poor Clarence. 

Hugo sighed and exited the park, walking along Kensington Road.  He’d be home soon, and he had to stop feeling sorry for himself and try his best to put on a brave face for Neve.  She’d have cooked something for their supper and he was starving.  He had to admit that he did enjoy the food.  It was so much more diverse than the cuisine of the seventeenth century.  Neve was constantly surprising him with new culinary delights.  He’d hated sushi and couldn’t stomach Indian spices, which seemed to permeate his entire body and ooze out of every pore, making him smell like the Indian restaurant down the block, but everything else had been generally to his liking, especially ice cream.  He still couldn’t believe the amount of flavors it came in and had aspirations of trying each and every one.  So far, strawberry was by far the favorite.  Maybe he’d get some ice cream tonight.  Neve had a real ‘sweet tooth’, as she called it, and he liked indulging her, although she seemed to fret about her weight. 

Hugo was about to stop into a grocery owned by a nice Pakistani fellow when an advertisement for a film caught his eye.  The movie was called
‘Master of Disguise’
and depicted the same actor appearing as several different characters.  Hugo was about to walk right past when he stopped in front of the poster and stared at the pictures more closely, ice cream forgotten.  He stood for a few minutes, stroking his chin as he studied the different faces of the actor. 

Hugo finally walked away, his step suddenly jauntier.

I closed the lid and sat down on the toilet, my head in my hands.  I’d known I was feeling off for a few weeks, but stubbornly told myself that I was just tired from the summer heat and stressed by the situation with Hugo.  Now I could deny the truth no longer.  I was pregnant, probably at least a month along, and once again I was about to be confronted by a less-than-thrilled father-to-be.  I knew how badly Hugo wanted a child, but not under these circumstances.  This was the absolute wrong time to bring a baby into the world, and the thought of Hugo’s despair at not being able to marry me and give the child his name made me swallow back a sob.  Why did life have to play such cruel tricks?  I wanted this baby more than anything, but felt anything but happiness at the prospect. 

I blew my nose on a tissue as I heard the door slam and Hugo’s footsteps in the corridor.  I wished I could hold off on telling him, but he’d be hurt if I didn’t share the news with him, and what was the point of waiting?  Things weren’t about to change, were they?  I took a deep breath and let myself out of the loo, walking into the front room like a woman going to her execution.  Hugo was sitting in his favorite chair by the open window overlooking Portobello Road.  He found it grating at first, but now the bustle of the street seemed to amuse him, presenting him with a never-ending parade of sights and sounds.  Hugo had poured us some wine and was holding his glass, the drink forgotten as he focused on something just outside. 

I slid onto Hugo’s lap, wrapped my arms around his neck, and rested my head on his shoulder, feeling like a small child in need of comforting after some small disappointment.  Hugo wrapped his arms about me and rested his chin on top of my head.  He’d changed his clothes, but I could still smell a combination of horseflesh, sweat, deodorant that I’d bought him, and the fruity bouquet of Cabernet Sauvignon on his breath.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked softly.  “You look tired.”

“I am.”  I was tempted to leave it at that and just sit quietly with Hugo for a while, but he took my wineglass from the window sill and handed it to me, giving me the perfect opening.

“I can’t drink that,” I whispered, raising my eyes to his.

“I thought you liked this one.” He glanced at the label on the bottle to see if he’d gotten it wrong.

“I do, but I won’t be drinking for a while,” I said, realizing that the statement would mean nothing to Hugo.  In his time, women drank all through the pregnancy and while they nursed, the effects of alcohol on fetuses and infants not known to them.  “Hugo, I’m pregnant,” I mumbled as I watched his face for a reaction.  I wasn’t sure what I expected, but Hugo’s face broke into the most radiant smile, one of such joy that I suddenly felt my heart lift as well.

“How long?”

“About a month.”

“How can you tell so quickly?” he asked, puzzled.  I just showed him the plastic stick that clearly said ‘pregnant’ in the little window.

“And how does this plastic tube know that you are with child?” he asked.  He was curious about the workings of everything.  Hugo took the pregnancy test and looked at it more closely, marveling at the message. 

“It measures certain hormones in the urine,” I replied, giggling as Hugo quickly handed the stick back to me, unsure of how my urine got inside, but not willing to find out.

“Hugo, are you upset?” I asked, although clearly he wasn’t.

“I’m overcome with joy,” he replied and kissed me soundly.  “I can’t wait to be a father, but first, we must be married.”

“You know that’s impossible,” I replied.  In his excitement, Hugo seemed to forget that according to the British government he didn’t exist, therefore couldn’t enter into a legal union with someone without first proving his identity.

“No, it isn’t.”  Hugo seemed unusually happy as he looked at me, his eyes dancing with merriment.

“Hugo, what is it?  Have you thought of something?”

“As it happens, I have.”

I sat up in Hugo’s lap and faced him, eager to hear what he had to say.  What could have changed between this morning and now?  Hugo took a sip of wine, prolonging the suspense and watching me with undisguised glee.

“Well?” I asked, punching him lightly on the shoulder.  I hated when he did that; he had a real penchant for drama, something he probably picked up over the years at Court.

“Well, I was walking past a cinema today and saw an interesting advertisement for a film called
‘The Master of Disguise
’.  And, it got me thinking.  Actors change their appearance all the time for different roles, yet we never thought of what that really means,” Hugo announced triumphantly.

“Hugo, I’m not following.”

“Darling, in the seventeenth century, there are no cameras.  People don’t take a picture and forward it to others or post it on social media for three hundred of their closest friends to see.  By the by, I still don’t understand how that works.  At any rate, how many people in the seventeenth century, aside from those who’ve met in person, really know how I look?  The soldiers who have the warrant for my arrest know to take into custody Lord Hugo Everly, who’s dark-eyed, dark-haired, somewhat above-average height, and of average build.  How many of them have ever seen my likeness?”

“Not many, I suppose, other than the ones who had actually met you like the captain who came to arrest you at Cranley,” I replied, the light suddenly beginning to dawn.

“If I change my appearance I can be anyone I choose to be.  I can be Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones, or even Monsieur Dauriac if I so desire.  No one would be the wiser.  There’s no hair color or eye-color altering lenses in the past.  If people saw a blond man with blue eyes they would never associate him with me, don’t you see?”  Hugo was practically bouncing in the seat, his excitement contagious.

“But Hugo, say you do color your hair and change your eyes, then what?  You still can’t go home and claim your rightful place,” I said, feeling bad for raining on his parade.

“Oh, but I can.  I’ve been using your library card to great effect.  In November of 1688, William and Mary will land in England, depose King James II, and take the throne.  The people of England will refer to this as the Glorious Revolution.  Once a Protestant monarch is on the throne, the charge against me will become void since I will no longer be considered a traitor, but a hero who wanted to put a Protestant on the throne of England.  I will be able to go home,” Hugo announced.

“And until then?”

“Until then we can go to France as we planned and live there for three years in relative comfort, since I will be able to stop by Everly Manor and collect what I need, as well as inform Jane that I’m still alive and that you’re with child.  She’ll be so happy; this is what she wanted for me all along.”

Hugo’s face suddenly grew serious as he took my face in his hands.  “Neve, I will stay here if that is what you want.  I will never leave you or try to force you to go back against your will.  This is your time and your life, and you will be forsaking so much more than I have a right to ask, and I wouldn’t dare ask if I didn’t know that you’d planned to give it all up for me before.  The decision is yours, and I will abide by it.”

Yes, the decision was mine, but now things had changed.  A few months ago, I’d made a heart-wrenching decision to stay with Hugo in the seventeenth century, but although I knew that I might get pregnant at some point, I wasn’t pregnant at the time, so it was all hypothetical.  Now, there was a child growing inside me, tiny though it might still be, and that brought to the forefront all the fears of my last miscarriage and the lack of medical care in the seventeenth century.  I was no fool; I knew the statistics.  What was the likelihood of me surviving a birth?  Maybe fifty-fifty, if there were no complications.  I was scared, and Hugo knew it. 

“Neve, I know you’re frightened, and I would be too, knowing what type of medical miracles you would be leaving behind, but I promise you, I will find you the best accoucheur money can buy.  I will abduct the queen’s own physician if I must to keep you and our child safe.”

I leaned forward and rested my forehead against Hugo’s, my eyes closed as my mind raced through all the objections which my neurons were firing at lightning speed.  Any sensible person would stay here and try to find a way forward.  After all, Hugo wasn’t the first illegal to land on the shores of England, but I couldn’t keep him from his life or his birthright.  He had to go back, and I could either stay here: alone, heartbroken, and pregnant, or I could take my chances and go with him; all the while praying and hoping that I wasn’t making a terrible mistake, a mistake that would cost me my life. 

“Yes, Hugo, I will go back with you, but this time I will do it right, if there is such a thing.  I must make provisions for my flat, my car, and my job.  I can’t just disappear without a trace,” I said, already thinking of what would need to be done.  Focusing on the mundane was one way of keeping at bay the magnitude of what I was agreeing to. 

“Because you hope to come back?”

“Because I don’t think it’s right to disappear again.  I owe Lawrence Spellman that much.  I also need to schedule an appointment at the clinic to see a doctor before I leave.  I want to make sure that everything is all right and get a script for prenatal vitamins.  I’d like to see a dentist as well, as should you.  You don’t have a National Health Service Card, but there’s a private dentist I know who will gladly see you.  It’s not like you’ll have another chance,” I said with a sad giggle.  “When do you want to go?”

“As soon as you are ready.  How long would it take to alter my appearance?”

“Not long.  I can get some lenses from the make-up artists, and we can buy hair color at any pharmacy.  It might be helpful if you grow a mustache and a beard, which we will color as well.  Do you think I need to alter my appearance as well?” I asked, suddenly conscious of the fact that Lionel Finch and the captain of the guard had seen me with Hugo.

“I think that as long as you are dressed simply and are traveling with your “husband”, no one will make the connection between you and Lord Everly’s sumptuously dressed mistress.”

I was suddenly overcome with excitement.  As long as we could pull this off, we could travel to France as we planned, marry, have our child, and live in the style Hugo was accustomed to until it was safe to return to England.  It was a simple plan, but one that should work.