The Passage (10 page)

Hugo attempted to go back to his correspondence, but thoughts of Neve Ashley kept pushing their way to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to read the same line over and over until he gave up and just allowed himself a few moments of peaceful contemplation.  He would never admit it, but he’d been glad to see her, and the feel of her body beneath his own when he pinned her down on the bed left him feeling distracted and suddenly very aware of exactly how long it’d been since he’d spent a few hours with Liza. 

Hugo chuckled to himself as he remembered Neve’s face when he threw her over his shoulder.  She hadn’t expected that, nor had she expected to be locked in; that would teach her to lie to him.  But, she had been genuinely frightened, and for that he was sorry.  He saw real terror in her eyes, and although he had no intention of hurting her, she hadn’t known that and likely assumed the worst.  Some men were no better than animals, so maybe Mistress Ashley had good reason to be afraid. He knew nothing of her life or her past, and suddenly realized that twice now the woman had come unescorted and on foot, which was perplexing.  She spoke like a lady, although her phrasing of things was somewhat unusual, and was dressed like one.  Her clothes weren’t gaudy or frivolous, but of good quality and in the current fashion, and her cloak was fur-lined and clearly expensive.  Where had she come from and what was she doing on his land?  Why had she run off without a word and where did she go?  If she’d been staying in the village, he would have seen her, and would have noticed her at church, but Neve Ashley had definitely not been in the vicinity since she left over a week ago.  So why did she come back?

What had she said, that she wanted to tell him something?  Maybe he should have heard her out, but he’d been so annoyed by the way she gave him the slip last time that his pride got the better of him.  Well, it was too late to go back on it now.  He’d let her stew for a few hours, then go talk to her and see what it was she wanted to share with him.  He’d gladly go see her now, but it hadn’t been enough time.  She needed to believe that he meant to keep her there until she was ready to talk, so he had to be patient and try to concentrate on matters at hand. 

Hugo was just about to resume his letter when Jane poked her head into the library, her expression full of accusation.  “Is that poor woman still locked in?  Have you asked Liza to bring her some luncheon?  She must be famished.”  Jane glared at her brother as if he’d used his fists on the woman or relieved her of her virtue, rather than lock her in a room and leave her without food for a few short hours.  “I’m surprised at you, Hugo.  How can you be so cruel?  I know she gave you the slip, but if you’re honest with yourself, she did nothing wrong other than behave rudely.” 

That little speech made Hugo feel even guiltier, but he had to stand his ground.  He was the man of the house, goddammit, and Jane had him running circles around her pretty much since the day she was born and his father allowed him to hold the squirming infant, telling him that he must always look after his sister and protect her at all cost.  He had done his best for Jane, although God knew she hadn’t made it easy for him.  The revelations about Ernest had been shocking, particularly since Jane had kept the truth from him and he found out quite by accident.  He supposed she was just being a good and loyal wife, but had Hugo known the truth, he would have run his sword through Ernest while he was still well enough to stand, and would have felt no remorse whatsoever under the circumstances.  Thank God Jane had been spared physically, if not emotionally.

“Jane, leave and shut the door; I’m busy.  I will let her out when I’m good and ready and not a moment sooner, and the longer you stand there, the longer that might take.”  Jane gave him a look dripping with scorn and shut the door, but not before he saw her smile as she turned away.  He knew exactly why she was smiling, and that annoyed him even more, not only with her, but with himself.  Was he really so transparent?

After nearly four hours of pacing, I utterly exhausted myself and finally lay down on the bed and pulled the quilt up to my chin, resting my head on the bolster.  The misty morning had turned into a rainy afternoon, the deluge seemingly increasing by the hour and plunging the room into nearly impenetrable gloom.  The fire hadn’t been lit, and it was chilly and damp, making me grateful for the warmth that began to spread through me as the goose quilt did its work.  The bed hangings kept out the worst of the draft, and I was cozy in my little hideaway, if not very happy.  I was hungry, thirsty, and furious, but most of all, I was scared. 

Hugo looked murderous when he threw me onto the bed, and I honestly believed in that moment that he meant to hurt me.  He seemed to reconsider, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t.  Why was he so angry?  Okay, so I had left without saying goodbye, but that was hardly a punishable crime.  I had also lied about my identity, and I could see how that would anger him, but enough to lock me in?  Thank God there was a porcelain utensil under the bed, or I would have burst by now, not that I felt comfortable squatting over it as I held my skirts out of harm’s way.  Several bedrooms had a privy in the garderobe, but not this one since it was used mostly as a guest room.

I must have been mistaken about Hugo.  The gallant man who carried me and looked after me a week ago, was a total brute who didn’t deserve my concern.  He’d have to let me out sometime, and I would leave this house and forget I’d ever met bloody Hugo Everly.  How foolish I had been to risk my own well-being to come and warn him.  That had always been my problem with men; I put their needs first, instead of my own.  I’d done it for years with Evan and, in the end, he’d treated me shabbily, just as I always knew he would.  Max wanted to take care of me, and I should let him, instead of always trying to prove that I was an independent woman who could look after herself.

The more I thought about the situation the more anxious and frightened I became, so I stretched out on the bed with my arms at my sides palms up, pointed my toes outward beneath the heavy quilt, closed my eyes and began a relaxation exercise that I’d learned in yoga.  I wasn’t able to fully relax, but my heart rate did slow down, and my breathing grew even as I tried to block out all thought and focus on each part of my body in turn, mentally shutting them down.  It was meant to make me feel weightless and at one with the universe, but once I got to my stomach, I remembered that it was empty, and all my anger and frustration came flooding back.  It’s not like I’d never skipped a meal before; I was usually too busy to think about food, but locked in this room I had very little to distract me.

The sound of the rain proved to be more soothing than yoga, and I began to drift off, desperate to find some escape from my predicament.  By the time I awoke it must have been evening because the gloom of the afternoon had turned into full-blown darkness.  The rain still fell, but now it was a soft pitter-patter rather than the downpour of earlier.  My stomach growled, and my mouth was dry.  Did he want me to dehydrate? I thought angrily.  Of course, a seventeenth-century man would know nothing of dehydration or its effects, nor would he be very concerned with my lack of nutrition.  He wanted to punish me, and he was doing a fine job of it.  If he kept me here a few more days, I’d gladly tell him everything.

The house seemed awfully quiet. 
Had they all gone and left me here to die?
I thought melodramatically.  I just wanted to go home.  “Told you so.  Told you so,” the chorus in my head moaned, but I made a resolution to ignore it.  This was not going to be a Greek tragedy; not if I could help it.  It was another hour, at least, until I heard heavy footsteps in the corridor.  They had to belong to a man, so I scrambled off the bed and backed into a corner, suddenly afraid.  My heart was racing again, and my palms began to sweat as my stomach turned to water. 

Hugo opened the door and shone a candle into the room, finally spotting me crouching in the safety of the corner.  “For the love of God, woman, I’m not going to hurt you.”  He sounded vaguely annoyed, but I wasn’t sure if it was with me or himself.  “Come out of there,” he ordered me. 

I remained where I was, eyeing him suspiciously.  The flickering light from the candle reflected in his dark eyes, the lower half of his face lost in gloom, making him look even more intimidating.  Hugo set the candlestick on a low table by the door and advanced slowly into the room, palms up.  “Mistress Ashley, Neve, I apologize for my behavior earlier.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.  Now, please come out.”

“Well, you did frighten me, and you locked me in,” I shot back, now more angry than scared.

“And I would do it again, but I shouldn’t have physically assaulted you.  I am very sorry.”  He gave me an apologetic smile as I inched away from the wall, more so because it was cold against my back than because I believed him.  He did appear to be contrite.

“Step out of the room,” I said, and he did, allowing me to pass unmolested into the corridor.  “What now?” I asked testily, not wanting to lose any ground.

“Now, we go to the dining room and have some supper, over which you will tell me what I want to know,” he answered smoothly.

“And if I don’t?” I challenged him, daring him to do his worst.

“Then I will have to lock you in again and wait until you come to your senses, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”

I followed Hugo downstairs and was surprised to see the table set for two.  “Where are Jane and Clarence?” I asked petulantly.  I didn’t care to be alone with him and suspected that Jane would take my side if push came to shove.  She might have been annoyed with my rudeness, but I didn’t think she held with women being treated with disrespect. 

“Jane went to bed with a headache, and Clarence dined earlier with his tutor.  I wanted to talk to you alone.  Please sit.” Hugo pulled out a heavy chair and held it for me as I perched on the end, deeply conscious of him there behind me.

I glanced over the table while Hugo came around and took a seat across from me.  There was some kind of baked fish and something that looked like mashed potatoes or turnips.  I wasn’t sure if they had potatoes readily available in the seventeenth century, but turnips were probably plentiful.  There was also some kind of pie, fresh bread, and a hunk of very strong-smelling cheese, which was thankfully on the other side of the table.  Cheese was one of the great loves of my life, but I liked the semi-soft kind that melted so nicely on top of toast and not the hard, pungent cheese that sat on the plate across from me.  I expected to see a servant, but we were quite alone.

“I hope fish is all right.  I refrain from eating meat during Lent,” Hugo explained as he placed a piece of what looked like stuffed trout on a plate and passed it to me.  I made no move to start eating, partially because I wasn’t sure how to approach my meal.  There was a spoon and a knife, but no fork.  I knew that forks were already in existence, but it wasn’t until the eighteenth century that they gained popularity and took their place among the cutlery used at table. 

  “Eat,” he said, “you must be hungry.”  I was, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of obeying him.  I poured myself a cup of wine and took a few slow sips, watching Hugo over the rim of the cup.  He wasn’t looking at me, but I knew he was aware of my scrutiny.  He took a few bites of pie, then finally met my eyes.

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked.  I hadn’t expected that.  I thought he would start by demanding to know who I was and where I came from.  This question was easier.

“I came to warn you, but now I’m not so sure I should have bothered.”  I was still angry, and I wanted him to know it.

“Warn me about what?”

“Monmouth’s rebellion will fail, and he will be branded a traitor and executed.  I didn’t want the same to happen to you,” I blurted out, extremely gratified to see Hugo Everly nearly choke on his food.  Served him right.

“How do you know this?”  His voice was very low, but I could feel him vibrating with tension, food forgotten. 

“I just do.”

“That’s not an answer.  You can’t say something like that and not give a reason for your suspicions.”  Hugo was staring at me across the table, his face ashen, his eyes filled with apprehension.  I’d scared him.

“It’s not a suspicion; it’s fact.  I can even tell you the date on which he will be beheaded.  Would that help?”  I was taunting him now and I knew it, but I wasn’t ready to let him off the hook, belatedly realizing that I was putting myself in danger by revealing so much. 

“How do you know?” Hugo repeated.  His hands were balled into fists, but he made a conscious effort to unclench them and lay them palms down on the table before meeting my gaze once again.

“Please, don’t be afraid.  I won’t hold it against you.  I just really need to know.” His voice was soft and ingratiating, but I strongly suspected that if I refused to tell him, he’d employ other methods of getting the information from me. 

“I have the Sight.”  Having the Sight was the only way I could think of to convey my message without telling Hugo I was from the future.  Had I been a man, I might have told him that I was a divinist or an astrologer, able to predict the future by looking at the stars or interpreting auspicious signs sent by the heavens, but as a woman, not many avenues were open to me.  Most people of the time believed in the gift of Sight, which they thought to be more prevalent among women.  However, it was a fine line between being a seer and a witch, a distinction which could get me killed. 

Accusing someone of witchcraft was the easiest way of making sure they were found guilty, and often fed into the hysteria of superstition so readily perpetuated by the Church, especially when the parishioners began to question the ways of the clergy and protest the penalties imposed by the Church for non-attendance.  Fear was a useful tool for keeping the ignorant masses in line, easily invoked when a lesson needed to be taught, and the presence of the devil spied just at the right time. 

The Church had devised a convenient way of testing for witchcraft, sure to prove the accused’s guilt every time.  They bound the victim’s hands and feet and threw them into a body of water; if the accused floated, she was a witch, and if she drowned, she wasn’t.  Either way the woman died, the only difference being that she got to die by drowning rather than burning, which I guess was preferable if one had to choose a method of one’s death.  The thought of being burned alive was enough to make my scalp prickle and my heart pound uncontrollably in my chest, but I pushed the thought aside with the firm belief that it would never come to that.

Hugo sat silently for a few minutes, still glaring at me, but seeing something in his mind which made his hand shake.  He hastily took his hand off the table and refocused his gaze on me.  “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t just take your word for it.  Can you tell me something that would support your claim that you have the Sight?”  I knew he’d ask for something, so I decided to play my trump card, the only thing I knew would convince him.

“I can tell you that Clarence was not sired by Jane’s husband, and that he’s your heir in case anything happens to you.  You’ve made out a document to that effect last year, probably before you threw your lot in with Monmouth.  You knew the risk and wanted to put your affairs in order.”

Hugo continued to stare at me as if I’d suddenly revealed myself to be some kind of supernatural creature.  I suppose to him I was.  Had I made a mistake and gone too far?  What if he turned me over to the Church or the authorities?  I was suddenly very scared again, so I broke eye contact and began to move the food around my plate, no longer hungry.  It was pitch dark outside, the rain steadily falling, its soothing rhythm beating a tattoo against the mullioned windows.  The church was probably locked up for the night, my route of escape barred to me at least until morning.  I had gambled with my safety, and now I was trapped in this house until morning, at the very least, at the mercy of this man who looked fit to be tied.

Hugo took a deep breath, gulped some wine to calm himself and faced me across the table, his anger now under a semblance of control.  “You are right on both counts, although your Sight is somewhat flawed.  There are things you don’t know,” Hugo said.

“Such as?”  I knew I was right about the rebellion, so had I misread the situation with Jane?  Had my dream been a fabrication of my mind?

“That doesn’t matter.  What matters is that you’re probably right, and I thank you for your concern for my well-being.  I will take care not to lose my head,” he replied with a sad smile, “although I can’t guarantee it.”

“Hugo, don’t do it,” I cried, suddenly scared for him.  “Monmouth has no legitimate claim to the throne, nor the manpower to mount a proper rebellion.  If this country wants a Protestant monarch, they will get one very soon.”  That got his attention.

“What?  How?”  Hugo had gone white, his eyes bugging out of his head.  I suddenly stopped and stared at him, the penny finally dropping.  Hugo was a Catholic; he didn’t want a Protestant monarch.  Whatever he was doing with Monmouth wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed, and I had blundered in, knowing very little of the man or his cause.

“Oh, God.  I’ve got it all wrong, haven’t I?” I whispered. 

“What will happen to King James?” Hugo demanded.  I couldn’t stop now, so I told him the rest in the hope that he would believe me. 

“King James and his wife will have a child in 1688, a boy, which will ensure a Catholic succession, unacceptable to the predominantly Protestant majority.  The nobles will conspire to invite James’s daughter Mary and her husband, William of Orange to invade England.”  I felt my eyes sting with tears as I saw the expression on Hugo’s face.  He was heartbroken, and I had been the cause.  Maybe it’d been better if he found all this out on his own, or maybe he never would have if he died this year.  He’d have thought that James would continue to rule and that his death was a noble sacrifice.