The Passage (7 page)

I stared up at the high tester of my four-poster bed unable to sleep.  Jane had offered to close the curtains, but I asked her to leave them open, as well as the shutters, which she found to be strange, but complied with my request without a word.  I couldn’t bear the thought of being entombed in complete darkness, surrounded by heavy embroidered drapes that kept out most of the air, as well as the moonlight, feeble though it might be and distorted by the mullions of the casement window. 

I had been in this very room not two days ago, but then it had been just a part of the exhibit, the doorway bisected by a thick rope which allowed the visitors to look into the room, but not enter.  The furniture shone with polish, the hearth had been cold and gleaming clean, unlit for decades.  The whole house smelled of old wood paneling and carved ceilings, woolen rugs, and just a hint of dust trapped in the tapestries and the still-tight weave of the curtains and cushions.  It was quiet now, but earlier the house had been alive with the sounds of footsteps, aromas of cooking drifting from the kitchen, and the pleasant smell of burning wood, the crackling of flames soothing and mesmerizing as I stared into the fire.  This wasn’t just a house; this was a home where real people lived and worked, a home where they loved, suffered, and in Hugo’s case, plotted.  No amount of period detail or meticulous preservation could capture the spirit of the individuals who’d lived here so long ago, and died almost without a trace; their lives deemed irrelevant and quickly forgotten. 

It must have been close to midnight when I heard Hugo come up the stairs and close the door of his room, but still I couldn’t sleep.  I was achy and tired, my head pounding from the blow I’d received earlier, but I couldn’t rest.  I was terrified of what I’d gotten myself into.  What if I got trapped here and had no way of getting back to my own time?  What would I do?  How long could I pull off this charade?  Hugo didn’t strike me as being particularly gullible.  He’d make inquiries and find out that I had no ties of kinship to the earl.  What would he do with me?  I had to get away from here as soon as I could.  At this moment, all I wanted was to go back to my messy twenty-first century life.  I would stop looking back and devote myself to the future, a future where I would find a new love and have the family I’d always dreamed of.  No more going back and forth with Evan, no more agonizing over the miscarriage.  It was no one’s fault.  My child was gone, and no amount of self-flagellation or blaming Evan would ever bring it back.  It was time to move forward, and I would do that as soon as I went home and forgot this insane scheme. 

I had to admit though that I had enjoyed meeting Hugo and Jane.  I’d assumed that Hugo was a hard, callous man, but I saw the kindness in his eyes and the way he looked at his sister.  He was capable of great love, of that I was sure.  Was there a woman he cared for?  He was in his mid-thirties, surely there was someone?  I was fairly certain that Clarence wasn’t Hugo’s son, despite what Max had implied.  Clarence bore no physical resemblance to Hugo, or even to Jane, and the relationship between brother and sister appeared to be one of affection and nothing more.  One always picked up on sexual undercurrents, especially when looking for them, but I saw nothing untoward in the way the two interacted.  My dream must have had some basis of truth, fantastical though it might be.

Jane had fetched her sewing basket and sat by my side all afternoon, keeping me company in her quiet way.  She was no more than thirty, but her demeanor was that of a much older woman, a woman who’d known great sorrow.  The pretty, passionate girl I had glimpsed in my dream was no more, the fire extinguished and replaced by gentle warmth that radiated from her kind eyes.

“You must miss your husband very much,” I ventured, hoping she’d tell me something of the man she’d married.  There was a momentary wariness in her eyes before she readjusted her expression to one of bereavement.

“Yes, Ernest was a good man and a loving father to my son.”  The use of ‘my’ instead of ‘ours’ made me prick my ears, so I remained quiet, letting her talk.  It always amazed me how much people would reveal about themselves just to fill an uncomfortable silence, and Jane didn’t disappoint.  Being in mourning, she probably felt isolated and lonely, so a few hours in the company of a similarly aged female were probably a gift rather than a burden.

“He was much older than I and not in good health,” she said, stabbing the needle into her work as if it had just given great offense.  “In the last two years of his life, he suffered partial paralysis; his eyesight deteriorated, and he often ranted and raved, making no sense at all.  The physick initially said that Ernest had an excess of black bile, which would cause melancholy, but he later changed his opinion.  There were too many other physical symptoms by that stage.  He bled Ernest repeatedly, but his condition only worsened.  I would be telling an untruth if I said it wasn’t a relief when he finally passed.  I couldn’t bear to see him suffer, and his illness was hard on Clarence as well.”

“Was it a love match?” I asked innocently, wanting to hear more.

“Oh, no.  I’d known Ernest most of my life, but never regarded him as anything more than a kindly uncle rather than a romantic prospect.  He spent much less time with us after he married his first wife.  She was a calculating woman, interested only in bettering her position in life, and Ernest gave her that, to be sure.  She died not long before Ernest and I married, and left an eight-year-old daughter.  Hugo arranged the marriage,” Jane added by way of explanation as to how she came to marry a man she didn’t love.  Another stab at the fabric and Jane pricked her finger and sucked off the blood, suddenly smiling like a child.  “Hugo always tells me not to do that.”

“Did you not mind that your brother arranged a match with someone so much older?” And someone you didn’t love, I mentally added.  No one could accuse me of tact, but I was burning with curiosity.  Would Jane tell me the truth?

“No.  Hugo’s always had my best interests at heart.  Ernest was a good, kind man who would take care of me.  I’d suffered a terrible blow, you see.  The man I loved had deceived me; he’d promised me a future when he was already betrothed to someone else.  My heart was broken, and I never wanted to feel that kind of pain again.  I knew that Ernest would cherish me all his days,” she replied absentmindedly as she went back to her sewing.  “He spent much of his time out on the estate, so it was just Clarence and I, and Magdalene, of course,” she added, suddenly remembering her stepdaughter.  “Clarence was such a beautiful baby, always hungry.”  Jane smiled in that quiet way, remembering Clarence as he had been as a child.  “We used to spend hours together playing games and walking in the gardens when he got older.  By the time he turned six, Ernest arranged for him to have a tutor, so I didn’t seem him nearly as much.  I was lonely without him.”

“Did you not get on with Magdalene?” I asked, wondering what life must have been like for this child whom Jane clearly hadn’t loved.

“I tried, I really did, but Magdalene was a willful child, one prone to fits of temper and hysterics.  She felt a terrible jealousy toward Clarence, so I tried to keep them apart.  I did spend at least an hour a day with her, just the two of us, reading to her from the Bible or teaching her to sew.  She enjoyed the stories, but sewing frustrated her.  She lacked the patience, you see.”

“Where is she now?”

“In London.  She married a few years ago, a fine match; Ernest was very pleased.  I must say that marriage has changed her.  She truly loves her husband, and he seems to return her affection,” Jane remarked, sounding amazed that anyone could love the wayward child she had so much trouble with.

“Do you have any other children, Jane?”

“No, Clarence is my one and only,” Jane replied sadly.  “I would have liked to have more children.”

I couldn’t help wondering if Jane ever shared her husband’s bed.  It was clear that she didn’t love or desire him, and since there were never any other children, it was possible that they never shared any intimacy.  Why would Ernest agree to such a union?  I wished I could ask, but that would have been crossing the line by a mile.  Besides, Jane might have never known the details of the arrangement.  It seemed, at least based on my dream, that Hugo had kept his promise and made it possible for Jane to keep her baby, but at what cost?  Had this poor girl ever known love?  Would she have the opportunity to remarry now that her husband was gone, or was this what her life was going to be – a lonely widow whose son would grow and leave her to live his own life and follow his own dreams?

There was so much I wanted to know about Hugo and Jane, but I’d overstayed my welcome and would never find out what happened to these two.  The thought of something awful befalling Hugo in the near future nearly made me sick, but I reminded myself that I couldn’t change history, nor did I have any right to get involved.  Whatever Hugo was mixed up in, he’d made his own bed, and he would have to lie in it sooner rather than later.  My heart twisted as I recalled that his ‘bed’ was actually a grave, an unmarked one.

My thoughts were interrupted by Jane’s soft voice.  I could just see her through the partially open door.  She’d settled me in the room next to hers and left the adjoining door slightly ajar in case I needed anything during the night.  She was wearing a long white nightdress, just like the one she’d lent me, her hair loose around her shoulders as she sank to her knees and folded her hands in supplication, her face turned up to the invisible heavens.  The candlelight played softly over her features, and the gray in her hair wasn’t visible at all, making her appear much like the girl I’d seen in my dream.  In my own time, Jane would still be a young woman, at the height of her power and sexuality, but in this day and age she was well past her prime, a woman who had few prospects before her.

Jane was quietly praying, and although I felt like a voyeur, I couldn’t help listening to what she said.  She commended her husband’s soul to God and asked him to take care of Clarence before turning her attention to Hugo.

“Dear Lord, please help my brother see sense and stop this madness before it’s too late.  You know what he’s involved in with His Grace, the Duke of Monmouth, and it can’t possibly end well.  He thinks he knows what he’s about, but I fear he’s in mortal danger.  Please, spare him; he’s the only family I have, besides Clarence, and I couldn’t bear to lose him.

E nomini patri, et Fili e spiritu sancti.  Amen.”  Jane crossed herself, kissed her rosary, and rose to her feet with an air of someone who’d just handed off her troubles to someone else.

So, they were secret Catholics, I thought, glad to have at least a piece of the puzzle handed to me.  But, my satisfaction was short-lived.  I couldn’t remember the intricacies of the political situation in England at this time, but I did know that Monmouth was Protestant, being the eldest illegitimate son of Charles II, and King James was Catholic.  Why would Hugo throw in his lot with Protestant Monmouth?  Of course, there was much I didn’t know about what they were involved in, but Jane made it sound serious.  Mortal danger, she’d said, and she was right.  According to family records, something would befall Hugo within two months, possibly much sooner, and Clarence would inherit.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear slid down my temple and into my hair.  Hugo was so young and full of life, and Jane was so clearly dependent on him.  There was real affection between brother and sister.  She’d be heartbroken.  I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to get some sleep, but my mind wouldn’t comply, so I spent the rest of the night staring at the darkened canopy above the bed, mourning the loss of people who were still very much alive.

**

As soon as the pearlescent light of impending dawn penetrated the darkness of the room, I got up, dressed, and with my shoes in hand tip-toed to the stairs.  My ankle still pained me, but I couldn’t afford to dawdle.  I heard movement and the unmistakable sounds of servants about their business in the kitchen, but there was no one on the ground floor.  I eased the heavy bolt out of the lock and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind me.  I put on my shoes and ran hell for leather toward the church.  My ankle throbbed, but I tried to ignore the pain, knowing I had limited time to escape.  It was Sunday morning, and I had no idea at what time the church would start to fill up for the service.  My head still ached, I was exhausted from my sleepless night and bruised from my fall, but I put discomfort out of my mind, as well as terrible guilt at just running out without saying goodbye or thanking Hugo and Jane for looking after me.  I hoped they wouldn’t think too badly of me, but I had no choice.  Had I told Hugo I wanted to go to church, he might have insisted on accompanying me and would see me disappear from the crypt.  I couldn’t let that happen.

Hugo woke up with a dull headache.  He needed a piss, but his cock was stiff as a board, the remnants of his rather pleasant dream still swirling in his head.  He’d dreamed of Neve Ashley.  It wasn’t an illicit dream, but rather one of longing and desire, Neve always just out of reach as he tried to take her in his arms.  Her eyes were pleading with him to come to her, but she continued to run away, laughing softly and making him burn with a passion he hadn’t felt in some time.  He’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be in love, or even in lust.  It’d been too long since he’d been with a woman, especially one he actually desired. 

Liza shared his bed from time to time, but not since Jane arrived; she wouldn’t approve of him bedding a maid, even a willing one.  He wasn’t in the habit of taking servants to his bed, unlike some men he knew whose female servants lived in terror of being molested, but Liza was different.  She made no secret of her intentions, and where some masters would have dismissed a servant for such ill-concealed attempts at seduction, Hugo felt that it absolved him of any responsibility toward the girl.  If Liza desired him, he’d oblige most willingly, but since the initiative had been hers, he felt no obligation beyond satisfying her and himself.  He liked Liza, made sure she was well provided for, and gave her the occasional ribbon and trinket to make her feel appreciated, but no words of affection ever passed his lips.  He’d been blind not to realize that the girl was in love with him, but by that point it was too late to turn back.  All he could do was be kind to her and make sure she never got with child.  He didn’t want to cause her any more suffering than he already had.

Hugo glanced out the window as he got out of bed and promptly swore.  “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered as he pulled on his breeches and boots, grabbed his coat and bolted from the room.  Neve Ashley had a healthy head start, but she was obviously headed for the church, and he knew a shortcut through the woods.  He wouldn’t stop her leaving, but he had to see whom she was meeting, for he was sure she had an assignation. Why else would she go to church at dawn?

Hugo never let Neve out of his sight as he trotted down the overgrown track, cursing himself the whole time for being a trusting fool.  He’d managed to arrange his clothing so that he didn’t look as if he’d just come from some woman’s bed, but had forgotten his hat in his haste.  No matter, he’d have had to remove it in church in any case, out of respect. 

Neve looked back just before she disappeared through the thick stone wall surrounding the churchyard, but Hugo wasn’t far behind.  He gave her a few minutes before slipping through the door and looking around the empty church, his head swiveling from side to side.  The church was empty.  Not even Reverend Snow was about; the man was likely still abed at this hour.  Hugo walked around the church, peering into every corner and behind the altar to make sure Neve wasn’t hiding, but there was no one there.  He even went down to the crypt, but it was dark and silent.  Hugo exited by the side door and spent the next quarter of an hour wandering between the headstones, his mind refusing to accept that the woman just simply vanished, before heading back home to break his fast.