The Passage (6 page)

I looked at the departing girl and decided that it was probably time to make my escape.  I’d gotten what I came for, and although I had no idea what would eventually happen to Hugo, I wasn’t about to find out.  I needed to get back to the church and to my own time since I was feeling worse by the minute.  I was lying to this man, pretending to be someone I wasn’t, and taking advantage of his hospitality.  It felt all wrong, and I was ashamed of myself.  I could tell that he was brimming with questions about how I came to be on his property and why I was alone and on foot.  He was too polite to interrogate me, especially since he thought I was the relative of an earl, but sooner or later he would ask, and no answer I could give him would make sense.  I needed to leave.  I made to sit up, but a wave of dizziness brought me right back down, reminding me that I recently hit my head.  My ankle was also throbbing in a most alarming way, and I let out a little yelp as I tried to move it.

“Where are you going?” Hugo was instantly by my side.  “You just turned white as a sheet.  Please, Mistress Ashley, lie back down and rest.  Shall I summon a physician? It might take a few hours though since the nearest medical man is at Blackney.”

“No, please don’t trouble yourself.  I’ll be all right.  I just need to rest a bit longer.”

“You need to rest for several days.  I will make sure you’re comfortable and my sister will act as chaperone, so you mustn’t worry about any damage to your reputation.” 
I might be concussed, but at least my virtue would be safe
, I thought with an inward giggle.  Chivalry was alive and well. 

“Ah, here’s Jane,” Hugo announced with some relief as a woman appeared in the doorway.  She was some years younger than Hugo, which placed her at around thirty, and was dressed in a sober gown of charcoal gray.  Her hair was pulled back from her face with only a few curls on either side to cover the ears, but she was without question the woman I’d seen in my dream.  She was older now, the bloom long gone from her cheeks and her hair sprinkled with silver, but there was no mistaking the doe-like dark eyes and the full mouth that was once quite sensuous, and so like her brother’s. 

“My sister was recently widowed,” Hugo said as he introduced us.  “Her husband is greatly missed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” and I was.  She looked bereaved, and I briefly wondered if she ever got to marry her lover.

“Thank you.  You are very kind,” Jane replied.  She took the seat that Hugo vacated a few minutes ago and folded her hands in her lap, clearly waiting for an explanation as to what a strange woman was doing lying on a chaise in the parlor with her brother anxiously hovering about.

“Jane, this is Mistress Ashley.  She was walking in the lane when Ronan and I came along and nearly ran her down.  I’m afraid she’s had a bad fall.  I’ve invited her to stay with us for a few days until she recovers,” Hugo explained, sounding awfully guilty.

“I told you that horse was a demon,” Jane replied, the color rising in her cheeks.  “Tis only a matter of time before you kill someone.”

“He’s just young and spirited, that’s all.”  Hugo sounded defensive, but Jane just glared at him as if he were an errant schoolboy. 

“It really was all my fault,” I interjected, not wanting to see them argue.  “I wasn’t paying attention and it was rather foggy outside, so Lord Everly wouldn’t have spotted me until it was too late.”

“Don’t blame yourself, my dear,” Jane replied, still gazing at her brother. “That horse of his is a menace.  Nothing wrong with a good English mare, but my brother must have an Arabian stallion.”  I could see that she was teasing him now, her annoyance forgotten.

“I won him in a card game off Henry Howard, the Duke of Norfolk,” Hugo explained with a guilty smile.  “The Duke was loath to part with him.  Ronan is rather volatile, but that’s what makes him such a challenge.”

“Ronan doesn’t seem like a name fitting for an Arabian stallion,” I mused, watching Hugo.  I could see that he was fond of the horse, possibly because he’d won it off a duke.  I couldn’t help wondering if it had been the Duke of Norfolk I’d seen him with at the church.

“No.  His name was originally Aamir, but Norfolk had it changed to Ronan since the groom refused to go near the “Saracen Devil,” as he called him.  There’s much superstition in this country against anything foreign.”

“As well there should be,” Jane countered.  “We have everything we need right here.”  Jane finally seemed ready to move on from the topic of Hugo’s horse, turning to me in a most solicitous manner. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” she asked.  “I do hope Hugo had the presence of mind to send for some refreshments.

“He did.  He was most kind,” I answered, hoping that Jane would stop fretting. 

A few minutes later, Harriet came bustling into the room with another decanter of brandy and some sort of rolls which smelled heavenly.  “Just out of the oven, your lordship,” she said, setting the tray down and giving Hugo a slight curtsy.

“Ah, thank you,” he replied absentmindedly.  Hugo looked from me to Jane and back again, as if he suddenly felt caged and needed an excuse to get out.

“Jane, I need to go out for a short while.  Will you look after Mistress Ashley while I’m gone?  I will return before nightfall, but if you should require me urgently, just send Jem with a message to Nash House.”

“Don’t worry, Hugo.  We will be just fine, won’t we?  I’m a very good nurse.  I nursed my husband for two years before he finally left us, may he rest in peace,” Jane explained, turning to me.  “Can I get you a sausage roll?  Our cook rather excels at these, partially because she knows Hugo likes them.  All the women in this house simply fall over themselves to make him happy.”

Hugo just smiled, knowing he was being teased.  I could almost bet that Jane was one of the women who fawned over him.  She seemed awfully fond of her brother, and his gaze noticeably softened when he looked at her.

“Off with you then,” Jane said, shooing Hugo from the room.  “We will be just fine, won’t we, Mistress Ashley?”

“I’m sure we will,” I replied, wishing that I could just flee, but realizing that I would have to spend at least a few hours at Everly Manor before I was well enough to make my way back to the church.

Hugo snatched his wig and hat off the chair, gave me a stiff bow and hastened from the room.

“Just like a man,” Jane remarked with an indulgent smile as she watched Hugo through the window.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, warming up to Jane instantly.  She’d voiced my own thoughts.

Jane tore her eyes away from the window and gave me a knowing smile.  “Why, it’s obvious, isn’t it?  Hugo feels guilty for the injury he’s caused you, so he would much rather put it out of his mind and drink and dice with his friend instead.  By the time he returns, I will assure him that you are quite well, and he will forgive himself and put the incident behind him.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at Jane’s summing up of the situation.  She was probably right, but that was just as well.  There was no reason for Hugo to feel guilty.  He hadn’t expected anyone to be in the lane and didn’t see me in the mist until he was almost upon me.  I should have heard the pounding of the hooves, but I was lost in my own thoughts and didn’t get out of the way in time.  It was an accident, one that brought me in contact with Hugo Everly and his sister.  I had to admit that they weren’t at all what I imagined them to be, and I would have liked to get to know them better.  As it was, I had to get back to my own time, and I would leave as soon as I could manage the walk back to the church.  In the meantime, I’d spend a little time with Jane.  She had a serenity about her which I found comforting, and we easily fell into conversation, as women tend to do.

Hugo Everly galloped out of the yard, bound for Nash House.  He’d seen Jane’s brief look of reproach when he said he was leaving, but Jane didn’t know him quite as well as she thought.  He wasn’t fleeing out of a sense of guilt or responsibility; he needed to see Brad for an entirely different reason.  Bradford Nash was his oldest and most trusted friend, the only person he could confide in.  He’d meant to visit him today anyway, but now the visit took on a whole new urgency.  Hugo’s mind tried to untangle the dilemma, but despite the application of all his powers of reasoning, he couldn’t come up with any explanation.

“Hugo, a pleasure to see you,” Bradford exclaimed as Hugo was admitted.  He was impeccably dressed as always, but his thick blond hair looked as if he’d been raking his fingers through it and there were worry lines around his eyes.  “Have you lunched?  I was just about to sit down.  Join me.  I have a good wine you might like; a fine vintage.”  Bradford ushered Hugo into the dining room and invited him to sit down.

“Is Beth unwell?” Hugo asked, referring to Bradford’s wife who was conspicuously absent from the table.

“She’s started her confinement,” Bradford answered with a frown.  “I’m not allowed anywhere near her bedchamber until well after the babe is born.  Praise God, may all go well,” he muttered as he poured the wine.  “She won’t admit it, but she’s very frightened.  Both her mother and sister died in childbirth, so Beth secretly thinks she might be next.  I keep telling her that all will be well, but it’s in God’s hands.  Spending a month in complete isolation can only make her more fearful.  The midwife came yesterday and gave me my orders.  Beth is to be on bed rest until the birth, with the curtains drawn to keep out evil spirits, candles lit from morning till night, and no emotional upheaval of any kind.  Only Beth’s servant and the midwife are allowed to enter.  I can’t even imagine how Beth will cope,” Bradford said, rolling his eyes. 

Both Hugo and Brad had known Beth since she was a child, and she was never known to sit still for longer than a few minutes.  She was a spritely presence, always on the go, whether it was to help the aged and infirm in the village, visit the new mothers, or cut up fruit to make preserves in the kitchen.  The thought of her being locked in a dark room for a month at the very least was hard to imagine.

“Beth is strong; she will get through it, Brad,” Hugo said, knowing that his words were hollow.  Women died in childbirth every day, and no amount of faith or hope could keep them alive.  Brad would be devastated if he lost his Beth.  He’d loved her since they were children; she was his reason for living and breathing –- his better half, but he needed an heir and there was no other way to provide one.

“To an easy birth and a healthy baby,” Hugo said, raising his glass in a toast.

“Please God,” Bradford breathed and drained his glass.

After that they changed the subject by unspoken consent.  What more was there to say?  What happened to women behind closed doors was a mystery which neither of them cared to explore; that’s what midwives were for.  All they could hope for was a favorable outcome and a male child to carry on the family name.

“Brad, I’m in something of a quandary,” Hugo said as he helped himself to some roast beef.  He was hungry, but he couldn’t eat until he discussed the situation with Brad.  Brad tore off a chunk of bread and mopped up some gravy before popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly.  “Is it a woman?” he asked with a grin, leaning in to hear the tantalizing details. 

Hugo chuckled at Brad’s eagerness.  A romantic dalliance would be the least of his problems, but for all intents and purposes, his problem was a woman.

“As a matter of fact, it is.  I nearly killed a woman today.”

“You did what?  Why?” Brad exclaimed, his food forgotten.

“It was an accident.  She was walking down the lane, and I didn’t notice her until I was almost upon her.  I didn’t expect her to be there any more than she expected me to come charging at breakneck speed.  She’s had a nasty fall, but she will recover.”

“So, what’s the quandary?” Brad asked as he resumed eating.  “Is she comely?  Married?  Has dedicated her life and virtue to God?”

“What do you know of Nell Ashley, the niece of Anthony Ashley Cooper?” Hugo asked, finally taking a bite of his own meal.  Now that he was talking to Brad, he felt better.  They would sort it all out; they always did.  Beneath Brad’s cavalier attitude toward life and love was a keen mind that always got to the crux of the problem in record time.

“Not a great deal.  I believe she died in the Great Plague of London, around 1665.  She was seventeen or eighteen at the time.  Her mother and younger sister died as well, but I might be mistaken.  Why do you ask?” Brad looked intrigued as he took a sip of wine and continued to watch Hugo.  This promised to be interesting.

“The woman I nearly ran down introduced herself as Mistress Ashley.  She led me to believe that she’s the earl’s niece,” Hugo supplied.

“Did you ask her if she was his niece or did she tell you?”

“I asked her, but she didn’t deny it.  She said he was her uncle.  What do you make of that?  Why would she lie?”  Hugo took a deep swallow of wine to calm his nerves.  He knew in his bones that something wasn’t right, but was it what he thought?

“Hugo, are you suggesting that Monmouth sent this woman to spy on you?  To test your loyalty?  We both know how mistrustful he can be, especially since his last attempt failed miserably, but why would he send some strange girl?  Is she his mistress, do you think?  A whore?  What?”

“She’s not a whore.  She’s cultured, well-spoken, and modestly attired,” Hugo replied, sounding ridiculous even to himself.  There were plenty of expensive whores who were all those things.

“Is she beautiful?” Brad asked as he reached for another helping of beef.

“Yes, but not as young as you might expect.  Mid-twenties at the very least.”

“Hmm, why don’t you just bed her and make her reveal all her secrets?”

“Bradford, be serious.  You know what’s at stake.  If Monmouth learns the truth, I’m as good as dead.  He’ll run a sword through my heart first and ask questions later.  I must walk a very delicate line to maintain his trust and still be loyal to our cause.  We have much to gain if we succeed, and everything to lose if we fail.”

“Hugo, I wish you hadn’t involved yourself in this.  You know what can happen.  I hope you’ve made a last will and testament should anything befall you.  At least make sure Clarence is provided for or that sniveling cousin of yours will get the lot.”

“Clarence will inherit the lands and the title, assuming they won’t be stripped if I get discovered.  In the meantime, what should I do with Mistress Ashley?” Hugo refilled his wine glass and gazed at his friend.  Brad always thought strategically, even when it wasn’t necessary.

“You can either send her on her way or keep her close and learn what she’s about.  I suggest the latter.  If she was sent by Monmouth, you’ll discover her purpose sooner or later.  If she wants to leave, let her go and follow at a discreet distance.  See where she goes and whom she meets.  You know what they say, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”  Sooner or later, she’ll betray herself; they always do.”  Brad nodded sagely, which almost made Hugo laugh.

“Why, have you had many women worming their way into your good graces, aside from Beth I mean?”

“No, but I’ll be ready when they come.”  Hugo burst out laughing.  Brad always knew how to put matters in perspective.

**

By the time Hugo returned home, he was pleasantly drunk and glad to see that the women had retired.  According to the housekeeper, Jane installed Mistress Ashley in a bedchamber adjoining her own and made sure that the lady was comfortable and well looked after.  At least Hugo didn’t have to face her again tonight.  He’d see what tomorrow brought.  He was tired, but not ready to retire, so he took a bottle of wine from the cellar and poked life back into the dying embers of the drawing room fire.  The night was cool and dark, the stars bright as shards of broken glass spread across the heavens.  A crescent moon hung high in the sky, casting a sliver of light onto the inky landscape outside the window.

Hugo poured himself a generous measure of wine and took a sip as he stretched his legs before the fire.  The talk with Bradford had been helpful; Hugo was just being overly suspicious.  James Scott, the Duke of Monmouth, was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.  If he chose to send someone to spy on Hugo, it certainly wouldn’t be some insipid woman who was foolish enough to allow herself to be run down by a charging horse.  And it’s not as if Hugo would conduct any discussion in front of her which would help her learn anything of his plans. 

Currently, Monmouth was still in self-imposed exile in the Dutch Republic, but he would sail for England soon and likely land in the southwest.  The West Country would be the best place for raising an army of farmers, artisans, and various non-conformists.  Most likely, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the King’s army, but it was wise never to underestimate the common man.  Monmouth had tasked Hugo with gauging the loyalties of the nobles in his area and recruiting sympathizers to Monmouth’s cause, particularly ones who could provide ample financial support, but Hugo’s real purpose had nothing to do with Monmouth’s ambition to sit the throne and dispose of his uncle, King James II.  It was imperative that Monmouth never learn the truth.

Hugo knew that James wasn’t an overly popular king or a very good one, but he had been next in the line of succession, which no one could deny, regardless of their religious and political views.  However, support for Monmouth had been growing, and as things stood now, Monmouth actually stood a fair chance of pulling off a rebellion.  After the failed attempt at assassinating his father and uncle at Rye House, he was treading more carefully, and amassing his followers before challenging the king.  In truth, there were many who supported him, despite his bastard status, believing him to be the true heir to the throne and desiring to see a Protestant monarchy restored.

Hugo took a gulp of wine and stared into the leaping flames, his thoughts turning dour.  Monmouth was arrogant, self-indulgent, over-confident, and ridiculously mistrustful.  If even a whiff of speculation regarding Hugo’s loyalty reached his ears, Hugo would find himself in mortal danger.  A man who was willing to kill his own father and uncle didn’t get overly sentimental about his friends, not even those he’d known since adolescence.  The years they’d spent together at Court would count for nothing if Monmouth found reason to mistrust Hugo, their shared history wiped clean in a moment of suspected treachery.  This time Monmouth would tolerate no mistakes, brook no arguments.  He was a man willing to gamble all on the ultimate prize.  It was kill or be killed.

Hugo refilled his glass and savagely poked the dying embers of the fire, willing them to last until he was ready to retire.  He suddenly wondered if Mistress Ashley was asleep.  She was lovely, he’d give her that.  Perhaps she had no ties to Monmouth at all, but it would be best for all involved if she took her leave come morning.  He would follow her, of course, to see where she went, but in truth, Hugo would be glad to see the back of her, no matter how enticing the view of that backside might be.  Tomorrow, he would offer to take her wherever she needed to go, which would in all probability make her take flight. 

Having reached this satisfying conclusion, Hugo finished his wine, heaved himself to his feet, smoored the fire, and made his way upstairs, his gait shaky at best.