The Passage (9 page)

By Sunday morning, it was time for me to return to London.  The legal paperwork had been signed, all the specs had been sent to the appropriate departments, and by the end of the week a team would come down from London to begin turning the museum into the apartments of Whitehall Palace.  Actual shooting wouldn’t begin for a few weeks yet, well after Easter, but my job was done for the moment.  I would return with the cast and crew to help manage various aspects of production.  I doubled as production assistant and saw to accommodations, meals, and anything else that required taking care of by someone who wasn’t actually involved in the creative process.  I loved being on set, so I was looking forward to returning to Everly Manor, and Max.  We would see each other in London during the intervening weeks.  Max promised to come up in a few days and take me to dinner and a film, and I was looking forward to seeing him again.

I tossed my bag into the boot of the car, came around to open the door, but stopped to admire the view from the ridge.  The morning was sunny and bright, a gentle breeze ruffling my hair and caressing my face, the intoxicating smell of spring in the air.  The still-bare branches created a lacework quilt against the cloudless sky and whispered among themselves in the timeless language of their own.  I could see the village spread out below me, several cars moving down the street and early risers already going about their business.  The tower of the church drew my eye, silently calling to me to stop by before I left.  Sunday service would begin in about a half hour.  Already people were walking in twos and threes from the village to take their seats in the hard wooden pews and listen to Vicar Lambert’s sermon.  Many felt more pious during Lent, but I felt no emotional connection to any of it.  I hadn’t been to a church service in years, and today certainly would not be the day. 

I should have just gotten in my car and left, but thoughts of Hugo continued to nag at me, leaving me angry and annoyed with the situation I’d put myself into.  Why couldn’t I just let it go?  Things were finally going well for me, and instead of rejoicing in a new project and my friendship with Max, I was obsessing over a man who’d died centuries ago, and whose decision to involve himself in a suicide mission had nothing whatsoever to do with me.  And yet…

I had to admit that for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to see Hugo again.  He’d left a strong impression on me, something that didn’t happen often.  Most people who touched my life in such a transient way were just a blip on the radar, but Hugo stayed with me, and so had Jane.  There was something tragic about the pair of them, and I’d been drawn to tragedy since I was a kid, perhaps because my own childhood had left me more sensitive to other people’s sorrows.  I could almost see a Greek chorus positioned at the back of an amphitheater stage, wearing tragedy masks and togas and singing in the background, warning me of danger and imminent catastrophe decreed by the Gods, but I’d always been one to tempt fate.

I got into the car, drove to the village and parked on a side street in front of a barber shop.  It was closed for business today and likely tomorrow as well, so no one would pay much attention to my car if I failed to return today for some reason.  I still had the hold-all with my seventeenth-century costume in the boot, having forgotten to return the items to the museum after my last visit to the past.  I would just pop by for a little bit, warn Hugo of imminent danger, and then return to the present and never go back.  What he chose to do from that point on was entirely up to him, but my conscience would be clear. 

I tried to ignore the Greek chorus in my head as it chanted louder and louder, their wails predicting impending doom building up to a crescendo, as I pushed open the door to the church and found myself confronted with a gaggle of women who seemed to be discussing flower arrangements for a wedding that was to take place the following weekend.  The young bride was near tears as her mother overrode her every suggestion and took charge like Napoleon riding into battle.  I smiled at the despondent bride as she slipped into a pew next to another young woman whom she strongly resembled, and just allowed her mother and the florist to make the decision. 

The two girls exchanged knowing looks that spoke volumes, making me suddenly sad that I’d never had a sister or known that kind of bond with someone.  I was used to solitude, having spent hours entertaining myself and moving the figures around on my makeshift stage as I presented play after play to my audience of dolls and teddy bears.  Perhaps that’s why I’d spent years with Evan, exchanging one kind of loneliness for another.  He’d never given me the type of attention I craved or made me feel as if I was at the top of his priority list.  There was a time when I’d dreamed of marrying Evan, but that time was long gone.  Would I ever have a wedding of my own?  I sighed and pushed these thoughts from my mind.  I had more important things to do, and I had to do them before the church began to fill up.  There were already a dozen people taking seats for the upcoming service, so I had to hurry.

Vicar Lambert appeared from the vestry, putting an end to the argument about the flowers.  He was already dressed for the Sunday service, wearing a chasuble over his alb and stole, and carrying the notes for the service in his hand.  The mother-of-the-bride addressed him, distracting him enough for me to disappear down the stairs to the crypt without being noticed. The crypt was shrouded in darkness and I felt as if I were descending into the underworld as I reached the bottom step.  The light switch was there, but I didn’t really need it.  I knew this place by heart. 

I hastily changed into my gown, cursing under my breath as I tried to reach the laces at the back of the bodice.  Stockings came next, then shoes.  I pinned up my hair, wiped any traces of make-up off my face and threw the cloak over my shoulders before stowing my bag behind the friendly knight.  “Wish me luck,” I said to him as I groped in the darkness for the button that would open the passage to the past.  The scraping of stone informed me that I’d found it, and I stopped for a moment just inside the doorway; my mind yelling at me to give up this foolishness and go home.  But there was no one waiting for me at home, so there was no reason to rush back to London.  A few hours would make little difference to me, but they might make all the difference to Hugo and Jane
—
if he heeded my warning. 

I stepped into the passage and walked slowly up the steps, my heart pounding against my ribs and my breath caught in my throat as the door closed behind me.  I had an idea of what I wanted to say to Hugo, but saying it in my head and actually confronting the man were two different things.  I hoped that as a seventeenth-century gentleman, he would be superstitious and that my warning would put him off his plan, but I was sure he was pretty committed to his cause, and it would take much to change his mind.

March 1685

The church seemed to be emptying out as I stepped into the south transept, several mothers rounding up their offspring as they scattered down the nave eager to play hide and seek among the pews. The Sunday service must have been earlier in the seventeenth century since most people rose at dawn.  Parishioners were filing out into the church porch, no doubt eager for a word with the vicar, before making for their homes and preparing Sunday dinner which they took at midday.  There was no sign of Hugo Everly or Jane, so I made for the side door that led to the cemetery.

The spring day I left behind was sunny and bright, but it was muggy and gray when I exited into the graveyard, a miserable drizzle filling the air with moisture and instantly making my scalp and face feel damp and chilled. I drew the velvet cloak closer to my body to keep out the gusty wind and pulled up the hood.  The house loomed out of the fog as I walked on the side of the lane, conscious of every little sound just in case anyone was coming and failed to spot me in the gloom as Hugo had before.  The house looked sinister, the edges blurred by the fog and the windows darkened as if it were empty and abandoned.  I was glad when I saw a servant girl come around the corner with a basket in hand.  She was heading to one of the outbuildings, humming to herself and bobbing her head to the tune.  She didn’t even notice me, which was just fine. 

I lifted the heavy knocker and banged it a few times before Jane herself opened the door.  She must have just come from church because she was still wearing her cloak and hat, her side curls dampened by the weather and clinging to her cheeks.  “It’s you,” she announced as if I had no idea who I was.  I couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or pleased to see me again since the expression on her face never changed.  She just stood still, waiting for me to explain my sudden reappearance before she decided whether to let me in or not.  I glimpsed Clarence behind her, his face alight with curiosity at the sudden intrusion.  The poor boy was probably bored out of his mind in this vast house with no one to keep him company besides his mother and uncle, so the appearance of a mysterious stranger was an event not to be missed.

“Good day, Jane.  I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wanted a word with your brother.  Is he at home?”  Jane looked as if she would much rather send me away, but good manners finally won out and she moved aside, inviting me to come into the foyer.  It was even chillier inside than it was out, and a pervasive gloom seemed to shroud the house, making me feel uneasy.

“Run away.  Run away,” the Greek chorus in my head sang, but I stood my ground as I waited for Jane to reply.

“I’ll tell him you’re here.  He’s just recently returned from…,” Jane suddenly realized that she was telling me too much and grew quiet.  “I’ll tell him.”

“Liza, light the fire in the parlor immediately.  This house is as cold as a tomb,” Jane called out irritably to the girl I’d seen earlier who rushed into the foyer to greet the mistress.

“Sorry, my lady, I’ve only just returned from church,” the girl replied, a slight air of insolence in her face. 

“Well, don’t stand there dawdling, and bring some mulled wine,” Jane threw over her shoulder as she disappeared into the library.

She returned for me a few moments later, a fleeting expression of surprise at her brother’s desire to see me quickly replaced by the wariness of before.  “Lord Everly will receive you in the library.  This way.”

Jane didn’t follow me inside, but closed the door softly, leaving me to face Hugo Everly.  This room was completely different from the foyer; it was warm and snug, the fire dancing in the hearth and casting rosy shadows on the stone walls and gleaming bookcases that hugged three out of the four walls.  Hugo sat behind a massive desk, several letters strewn in front of him and a map of what appeared to be England rolled out and pinned down with an inkwell and a thick volume.  He looked up, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs at the ankles, as if readying himself for a good story.  He raised an eyebrow in inquiry, but didn’t say a word, as I stood there glued to the spot and suddenly tongue-tied.

“Good day, Lord Everly,” I stammered, feeling a total fool.  Now that I was actually facing him the whole plan seemed preposterous, if not downright foolhardy.  What had I been thinking?  “Run away,” the chorus roared, but I blocked out their wailing and met Hugo’s gaze head on.

“Is it?” he asked politely, but with an edge of sarcasm that wasn’t lost on me.

“Ah, I wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure,” I said in a conciliatory way, but Hugo wasn’t having it.

“Yes, it was rather rude, if I recall.”  He cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes scanning my face in a way that made me want to turn and run back to the church, but I’d come here for a reason, and it’s not as if he didn’t have cause to be angry with me.  I knew he wouldn’t be very receptive.

“Lord Everly, there’s something I must tell you,” I began, but Hugo interrupted me.

“What you must tell me is why you lied to me about whom you are and then ran off without so much as a word.  You led me to believe that you were the niece of the Earl of Shaftesbury…”  Hugo let the sentence hang as he watched me squirm.

“It was you who suggested I was the niece of the earl,” I countered, knowing perfectly well that my argument was less than sound.

“I was mistaken, but you didn’t deny it.  Is Neve Ashley even your real name, or were you just hoping I’d immediately assume you were Nell Ashley and open my house to you?”

“Neve Ashley is my real name, and if you might recall, you nearly killed me that day, so my faculties were a trifle muddled,” I spat back angrily.  “I was confused.”

“Confused enough to think you were related to an earl?” He wasn’t letting me off the hook, and I suddenly wondered why I even cared about his man.  He wouldn’t listen to me anyway.

“I’m sorry I came.  I’ll take my leave now,” I announced with as much pride as I could.  Hugo pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and walked toward me with a conciliatory smile, which is exactly why I allowed my guard to drop.  I thought he would take my hands as he did before, but he suddenly swept me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he kicked the door open with his foot and proceeded into the corridor.  The last thing I saw before he mounted the stairs was Jane’s startled face and Clarence’s eyes, which were as round as saucers.

“What’s Uncle Hugo doing?” he whispered urgently to his mother.

“I don’t know, son; I really don’t know,” Jane muttered as she watched Hugo ascend the stairs with me dangling over his shoulder.

Once I regained my composure somewhat I began to pummel Hugo’s back with my fists, demanding that he put me down, but he simply ignored me and carried me to the room where I’d spent the night on my previous visit.  There, he deposited me on the bed with very little regard for my person, dumping me unceremoniously on my back.  I made to get up, but he pushed me back down, his face dangerously close as he pinned my wrists and straddled me, his thighs holding my legs in place.  I was angry before, but now I was genuinely scared.  What was he going to do to me?  He must have seen the fear in my eyes because he instantly drew back and let go of my wrists.

“You will remain in this room until you’re ready to tell me EXACTLY who you are and what you’re about.  Until then, we have nothing more to say to each other.”  With that, he left the room, and I heard the scrape of a key as he locked me in and walked away.  I scrambled off the bed and made for the window, but one look assured me that there was no escape.  The wall outside the window was smooth and made of solid stone, and even if it weren’t, the casement window wasn’t wide enough for me to climb through anyway.  I was Hugo Everly’s prisoner, and I could either tell him a very elaborate story or a partial truth, neither of which seemed very appealing at the moment.