The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 13

  I cried with fear and frustration as I sat by her cot all through the day. Elena needed antibiotics, but there was no way for me to get any without physically taking her to the twenty-first century. The thought had crossed my mind, but I was afraid of taking a sick child out into the bitter cold of a December dusk. I had nowhere to go once I came out on the other side, and the village doctor might not be able to see us given the lateness of the hour. I would have to find my way to the nearest hospital, something that would not be easy given the fact that I had no money, and once there, would have much explaining to do since my child was not registered with the National Health Service.

  I didn’t even have the heart to reprimand Hugo when he stepped into the room. His face was haggard in the light of the single candle, his eyes haunted. Hugo sat down next to me and took Elena’s hand.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “She’s worse, Hugo. The illness seems to be progressing much faster in her. What should we do?” He knew what I was asking and nodded in understanding.

  “We’ll take her to a hospital if she’s not better by morning,” he said. “I’ll sit with her. You go get some rest. You look done in. You’ve hardly rested in four days.”

  I was about to argue, but my body was already responding to Hugo’s suggestion. I was swaying with fatigue, my eyelids drooping from lack of sleep. I wanted to stay with Elena, but I could barely keep from falling off the chair. The half-hour nap I’d taken earlier wasn’t nearly enough to keep me going through the night.

  “I’ll just lie down here on Michael’s cot for a half hour. Wake me if you need me,” I said as I curled into a fetal position and instantly fell asleep.

  Chapter 24

  When I awoke, the candle was guttering, the flame wavering and casting wild shadows onto the wall. I wasn’t sure what woke me at first, but then saw Hugo sitting on Elena’s cot, his body bent over hers as he held her against his chest. He seemed to be rocking back and forth, his head resting against Elena’s forehead. Her hair was plastered to her face, and her skin looked strangely pale in the glow of the candle. Elena’s eyes were closed, her lashes fanned against the swell of her cheeks. I got to my feet, but couldn’t take a step. Elena looked like she was asleep, but I knew. My heart knew. A low growl tore from Hugo’s body, the sound of a mortally wounded animal that knows that there’s no hope. I wanted to go to him, to them, but my body failed me, and I crumpled onto the floor, my legs buckling under as the magnitude of the loss washed over me. An all-encompassing blackness swallowed me up, my body cushioning me against the agonizing blow.

  When I came to, the room was almost completely dark, only the pearlescent light of the coming dawn bleeding through the cracks in the shutters and outlining the furniture and the man still sitting as he had before. Hugo seemed to be frozen in his grief, his shoulders stooped like those of an old man, and his eyes closed in what was either a refusal to look upon his child or prayer. I finally managed to get up and came up behind him, my heart hardly beating. I wrapped my arms around Hugo and Elena. I wished I could scream and release some of the unbearable pain in my heart, but my voice seemed to have deserted me. Hot tears rolled down my face into Hugo’s hair. Hugo reached out and pulled me down next to him, his arm around my shoulders in a half-measure of comfort. He was too numb to do more.

  I reached out and touched my daughter’s face. It still retained a tiny bit of heat, but already the cold was seeping in, laying claim to its victim. Elena lay still in Hugo’s arms, her little face peaceful. There was a small smile on her lips which gave me a tiny bit of comfort. She had died peacefully in Hugo’s arms, still clutching her dolly. Her hand was now cold, rigid around the cloth poppet.

  “Hugo,” I called softly, but there was no answer. Hugo was lost in his grief. I tried to take his hand, but he pulled it away. He rose unsteadily to his feet and laid Elena on the cot before striding from the room without a backward glance.

  “Hugo,” I called after him, unable to cope on my own, but Hugo ignored me and melted into the darkened corridor. It was only then that I was able to really cry. Loud, wracking sobs tore from my body as I wrapped my arms around my middle to keep myself from coming apart. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. I was consumed by my loss, unable to imagine a life in which I could ever be whole without my little girl. As Hugo had done before me, I clutched her to me, kissing her face and her hands, begging her to wake up when I knew she never would, and baptizing her with my tears. She was gone, gone forever, to a place I couldn’t follow. I had my other children to think of, so I couldn’t do what my heart called for me to do. I couldn’t go with her.

  It was Archie who tore me away. He unfolded my fingers one by one from Elena’s hands and took the child from me, laying her on the bed. Archie pulled me to my feet and held me until I began to regain some sense of control, tiny though it might be. “You must be strong,” he whispered in my hair. “You must survive. Don’t let it destroy you.”

  I knew he was talking about his sister Julia. She had never fully recovered from the death of her children, and at this moment I completely understood. Was it really possible to recover? Archie walked me to the door, and toward my own room where he removed my shoes and laid me on the bed. “Sleep,” he said. “I’ll take care of everything. You needn’t worry.”

  I didn’t think I could possibly sleep, but I felt so eviscerated by what had happened, that I fell into a heavy sleep, desperate for that temporary escape from the horror of my reality. I didn’t dream. I seemed to have fallen through a black vortex where there was only silence and endless space. I felt myself floating, disengaging from everything and everyone, my mind cushioning me from a full breakdown through some primal method of self-preservation.

  Hugo was still gone when I woke up. The house was quiet, no sounds of laughing children or running feet heard over the deathly pall. Someone had left a glass of brandy by the bed, which I drank in one gulp, needing whatever strength I could find to face this new life in which Elena was no longer mine. I finally got out of bed and made my way downstairs. Frances was in the parlor with the children. Michael was playing happily, but Valentine looked frightened, her eyes full of questions.

  “Oh, Neve,” Frances breathed as I walked into her arms. We cried together, our tears mingling as they slid down our cheeks. We clung to each other for what seemed like hours until the children began to cry, sensing as children do that nothing would ever be the same. Frances gathered them up and took them to the kitchen, leaving me to just sit and stare into the flames. I wanted to hug and kiss Michael and Val, but I was afraid to touch them for fear of infecting them. They had to be kept safe.

  Archie walked in, stomping snow from his boots. “Where is Hugo?” I asked absentmindedly.

  “Let him be,” was all that Archie said.

  “Where’ve you been?” I asked, not really caring.

  “I spoke to Reverend Snow about holding the funeral on Saturday, if that’s agreeable.”

  “Yes,” I breathed. The thought of putting Elena in the ground caused a fresh flood of tears. Archie came and sat next to me. He held me until I was able to formulate words again, which was a while. Strange, that in my state of impenetrable grief, I noticed little things like bits of wood on Archie’s boots. He must have been chopping wood.

  “I will make the coffin myself,” Archie said when he noticed me looking. “I don’t trust anyone else to do it right for our Elena.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Saturday was three days away, days during which I would have to lay out Elena’s body, prepare for the funeral, and find a way to get through the day without coming apart at the seams. I felt numb, almost as if I were floating outside my body, but I knew that eventually this feeling would pass and I would be swallowed up by my grief, and the unbearable pain of Elena’s loss waiting to ambush me just beyond this moment.

  Chapter 25

  Blood-red rays of the rising sun streaked the murky winter sky, painting the crust of frozen snow
in shades of mauve and pink. Several crows erupted above the tree line, their plump bodies looking like smudges of black against the vivid skyline. Thin plumes of smoke rose from chimneys in the village, people already awake and going about the business of starting their day. Hugo’s breath came out in white puffs as he stumbled forward. He’d fled the house in his shirt, not having the presence of mind to put on a coat and cloak. He didn’t feel the cold; he didn’t feel anything except the pull of the yawning chasm that opened up when his baby breathed her last.

  He knew he should have woken Neve when he realized Elena was dying, but he couldn’t let her go, couldn’t give up a single moment with her. He’d held her to his heart, whispered words of love, and prayed with all his might that her passing would be easy. She’d opened her eyes in that final moment and looked directly at him, the suffering gone from her expression, and only a blinding hope in her little face, still believing that her father could help her, could save her. She’d tried to lift her hand to his face, but couldn’t find the strength. “Papa,” she’d whispered before closing her eyes. A small smile appeared on her face as she let out her breath in a sigh of contentment or release. And then she was gone. Just like that, Elena was gone. Gone forever, and it was all his fault.

  Hugo had no idea where he was going when he fled the house; he just knew that he couldn’t spend another moment there or he would go mad. He found himself at St. Nicola’s church. The interior was tomblike and freezing cold, the unlit candles white vertical shapes in their holders. The church was lost in shadow except for the cruel sunrise, the brilliant light of which shone through the high windows, filling the church with a rosy light that crept down the nave. The day had come; life went on even when all you wanted was to die.

  Hugo didn’t often pray at this church. He attended services as was mandated by the realm, but he did his real praying at home. But today, he needed to be in the house of God, any house, and if it had to be a Protestant church, then that’s where he would be. He prostrated himself on the cold stones; feet together, arms outstretched, forming a human cross, and prayed. He prayed for his Elena, prayed for Neve and the other children, but most of all, he prayed for forgiveness because Elena’s death was his fault. He’d brought the sickness into the house, had held and kissed Elena, passing the deadly pestilence to her. It should have been him that died, not that sweet, innocent baby, but she was gone, and he was here, and he had to live with what he’d done for the rest of his miserable life.

  Hugo barely noticed when Archie came into the church. He spoke softly to Reverend Snow, who’d left Hugo to pray in peace. Their voices washed over him like warm water, soft and soothing. Hugo hadn’t even realized that he was crying until the tears began to solidify on his face from the chill of the floor, and still he couldn’t get up. He had no strength to even sit up, much less get to his feet and face the day in which Elena was no longer living.

  “Lord Everly,” Reverend Snow said gently as he knelt beside him, “it was God’s will. There is nothing you could have done to save Elena. If you accept Christ as your Savior, then you must accept His will. This is a test of your faith.”

  “To hell with Him then,” Hugo roared as he jumped to his feet and fled the church, leaving Reverend Snow staring after him openmouthed. The reverend shook his head sadly, then lifted his hand in benediction, saying softly, “You might forsake Him, but He will never forsake you, my son. He understands your pain and forgives you.”

  Chapter 26

  Hugo did not come home the day Elena died. At any other time, this would have caused me great concern, but today of all days, I could barely keep it together. I needed him to share this pain with me, but instead, he’d chosen to run off and lick his own wounds. Somehow I had gotten through the day — the first day. I could barely remember what I’d said and done, but the one thing I would remember forever was laying out my daughter. Frances offered to step in, but I needed to do it on my own. It was the last time I would wash her, or dress her, or brush her unruly hair. It was the last time I would be alone with her, the last time I would be able to touch her and hold her, and kiss her.

  Once she was laid out in her coffin on the dining room table, she would no longer be mine. She would be a corpse waiting to be buried; a shell devoid of the mischievous, funny, brave little girl who’d inhabited it. I took my time preparing Elena for her last journey. I tried to memorize every detail of her face, the silky feel of her hair, and the shape of her hands. I’d placed her dolly on her stomach and folded Elena’s hands over it, feeling marginally better that Elena wouldn’t go to that dark place completely alone.

  Perhaps it was a morbid thought, but I wished I had a camera so that I could take a picture of my baby. Her features were burned into my brain, but I knew that with time, they would begin to blur, and her face and the sound of her voice would begin to fade, leaving me to grope in the darkness for faded memories and little mementos. Already, she seemed so far removed from me, so untouchable.

  Valentine and Michael were subdued, aware that something irrevocable had happened. They didn’t ask about their sister, but their eyes were watchful, full of fear as they tiptoed around me, not wanting to disturb me. They were constantly close to tears, as was everyone in the house. Someone would stay with Elena at all times until the lid would be nailed on and the coffin transported to the churchyard for burial, but I wanted to stay through the night. I left candles burning at the head and foot of the coffin, and the flame cast eerie shadows, playing tricks on me and making me believe that Elena had blinked or pursed her lips.

  Archie came in some time after midnight and forcefully lifted me off the chair. I tried to struggle, but he carried me upstairs and laid me gently on the bed. “Sleep now. I will watch over her until morning.”

  “Where is Hugo?” I asked. If anyone knew, it would be Archie.

  “In Hell,” was all that Archie said before quietly leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Well, that makes two of us, I thought as I sank into the pillows, suddenly devoid of any will to go on.

  **

  Hugo materialized on the morning of the funeral, carrying the tiny coffin on his shoulder as we made our way to the church. The day was warmer, the road muddy and slippery. A weak sunshine peeked through the clouds, and a gentle wind caressed my face as I tried not to stare at the little box that held the remains of my child. Hugo hadn’t said anything, hadn’t offered any explanation or apology; he seemed to be someplace else, his eyes hollow and his shoulders stooped. At any other time, I would have confronted him, but he was so clearly eviscerated by grief that I just walked next to him silently, holding Valentine’s hand. Archie carried Michael, and Frances walked next to him, her arm linked through his in a mute appeal for support.

  There were already people at the church. I knew some of them from before, but a lot of them were strangers to me. They’d come out of respect for Hugo, and probably out of curiosity. They wanted to see Lord Everly’s family, since we hadn’t been to the village since our arrival in Cranleigh. Godfrey Bowden stood off to the side with his wife, who was looking at me from beneath her lashes, not wanting to be caught staring. The only friendly face I saw was Beth’s. She came toward me, and I walked into her arms and buried my face in her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just held me in that way that friends do, offering a quiet, rock-solid support.

  “How is Brad?” I asked, having finally found my voice.

  “Still holding on,” Beth replied tearfully. “He will recover; I know he will. He must. Especially after such a sacrifice.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly alert. Beth looked away, two bright spots of color blooming in her pale cheeks.

  “Brad thinks one of the Irish soldiers had the putrid throat. He wasn’t badly wounded, but died soon after they were brought to that farm. He complained of a sore throat and was burning up with fever. It’s a wonder Brad didn’t catch it, but Brad never went near him,” Beth confided. “They’d been transported in different wagon
s.”

  “And Hugo?” I asked.

  “Hugo helped remove the corpses from the farmhouse. Perhaps he became infected then.”

  It was entirely possible. If Hugo touched a contaminated corpse with his bare hands, he might have been exposed to some bodily fluids or live bacteria. I was sure he’d washed his hands, as I had drilled into him time after time, but perhaps something had remained beneath his fingernails or on his clothes. These infections were strong and infected countless people, causing epidemics if not stopped in time. It was a wonder that Brad hadn’t been taken ill, considering that Hugo had tended him just before beginning to show symptoms himself.

  “Come, sit down,” Beth said as she led me to the front pew where Archie and Frances were already sitting with the children. Hugo stood with his back to the church, his head bowed as he looked down on the coffin.

  “Ahem, we are ready to begin, your lordship,” Reverend Snow said tactfully. Hugo didn’t reply, just took his seat. He sat next to me, but there was a distance between us that had never been there before, and the gap seemed unbreachable. Did he blame me for Elena’s death? I suddenly wondered.

  I barely listened to the words of the reverend as he spoke of God’s mercy and divine light. I didn’t care. There was no mercy in a child’s death, and there would be no light for any of us, not for a very long time. We all shuffled out into the graveyard where a small grave had already been dug. It looked like a scar on the snow-covered expanse of the sleepy cemetery. Michael began to cry, but Valentine stood silently next to me, her eyes dry in her solemn face.