The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 18
At last, the lights of the house came into view, and Liza pushed the tired horse, desperate to get out of the cold. She hoped a friendly groom would give the horse some water and hay, but that was unlikely. Going up the drive took another half an hour, the house being so far removed from the road, but at least the tunnel of trees sheltered Liza from the piercing wind. Normally, she wasn’t a fanciful sort of person, but today she kept seeing shadows lurking behind the dark outline of ancient tree trunks, and imagined countless eyes boring into her back, glowing in the dark with ill-disguised menace. She knew the eyes belonged to small forest animals, like foxes and rabbits, but in her mind they grew to mythical proportions, becoming monstrous in their form.
“Stop it, you foolish girl,” she muttered to herself. “There ain’t nothing in those trees other than God’s creatures who are hungry and cold just like yourself.” But the unease wouldn’t leave her, so she kept her eyes on the glowing light of a tower room situated just above the studded front door. The place must have been a fortress once, but the leaded windows of the room had to belong to a parlor. In Liza’s mind, it was warm and snug, the type of room that would be the heart of the home. Of course, houses that size had no heart. They weren’t like the dwellings of poor folk where the family gathered together of an evening whether they liked it or not for lack of any place else to go. It was either sit by the fire or go to bed, which wasn’t something you did by yourself either. When she was a girl, Liza shared a bed with her sisters, and now she slept with Johnny. She liked sleeping with him. He was a warm little bundle next to her, a reminder that despite her transgressions, the good Lord had been kind enough to bless her with a beautiful child, a child she loved with all her heart and would do anything for.
“Stupid cow,” Liza said to herself to dispel the eerie silence of the forest. “Who does she imagine she is thinking she can take my boy away?” To Liza, the Netherlands might as well be on the moon. She’d never see her Johnny again. “Witch,” Liza said louder, and then repeated it again. His lordship might not see what he was dealing with here, but Liza wouldn’t be fooled by a pair of guileless eyes and a pretty smile. Neve Ashley was a witch, no question about it. She’d come from nowhere, and she served her dark master — poisoning Hugo’s mind with her visions and false concern for his well-being.
Perhaps I should start having visions, Liza thought spitefully. Mayhap I’ll bag a lord as well. That was a nice dream, a dream that might have come true had that bitch not appeared on the scene. Hugo had been lonelier than even he understood. He’d succumbed to her advances easily enough. He’d never have married her, of course, but he might have set her up as his mistress, lavishing beautiful gowns and expensive jewels on her. And maybe he’d even have given her a little cottage on his estate, a cottage she could inhabit for the rest of her days, free of charge.
She would have loved that dearly, would have loved him had he seen her as a human being, and not just a warm body to stick his cock into when he was feeling the urge. Liza had to admit that she rather enjoyed his attentions, and she felt the urge as often as he did, something not any decent woman would readily admit to. Yes, she liked it, and look where it got her -– a woman scorned, with a fatherless child, and nothing to show for it save the few crowns she took off Lionel Finch with her scheming. Well, she’d been scheming again, and with any luck, his father would be as gullible as the son. Liza finally reached the house and continued on toward the stables. A young boy emerged from the shadows clearly annoyed at being disturbed by an unexpected visitor at such a late hour. He gave her a quizzical look, but she decided that a brazen approach often worked best with servants.
“Feed and water my horse, boy,” she ordered as she slid off and threw the reins to the groom. “I’ve urgent business with Master Finch. He’s expecting me,” she added for good measure.
The boy just shrugged, but did as he was told and walked the horse to the stables. Well, at least one of them would warm up and eat tonight. Liza held her head high and her shoulders back as she walked up to the front door. She banged for several minutes before a middle-aged servant finally opened the door a crack, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. She didn’t expect that many people showed up at the Finch’s door unannounced, at least not if they expected to live to see the next morning.
“I have important business with Master Finch. Tell him I am here,” she informed the servant imperiously.
“And who might you be?” the woman asked, glaring at Liza with an air of one who knew exactly what she was up to.
“My name is Liza Timmins. I was a friend of Lionel Finch.”
“Lionel Finch had no friends,” the woman grumbled, but allowed Liza into the house. “Wait here.”
Liza stomped her feet on the stone floor, grateful for a respite from the cold, not that the square foyer was much warmer. This part of the house must have been a keep at one point, the thick stone walls unbroken by windows and immune to any form of warmth. No amount of heating would make this space warm or cozy. It was also completely dark since the servant had taken the candle with her, leaving Liza to just stand there like an interloper.
She finally came back and gestured for Liza to follow her up the stairs. Sure enough, they came to the room just above the foyer, the parlor Liza had imagined when she saw the house. The parlor was much warmer, the rugs and tapestries doing their damnedest to keep in the heat from the fire. Josiah Finch sat in front of the hearth, his feet perched out on a low stool in front of the fire. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the door, his mouth pursed as he beheld his unexpected guest. Liza wasn’t sure what she’d expected having met the son, but the father did not resemble him much at all. Josiah Finch was bald as an egg, and had deep-set, lively dark eyes, so different from the colorless, venomous stare of Lionel. His complexion was ruddy, that of a man who spent his time outdoors. Lionel had been as pasty as unbaked dough, his thin lips the only slash of color in an otherwise colorless face.
“Stop gawping and tell me what’ya want, girl?” he growled as Liza advanced farther into the room. He didn’t invite her to sit or offer her any refreshment, but at least he allowed her to come closer to the fire, which was a blessing. She could hardly feel her feet, her thin-soled shoes offering little protection from the frozen ground outside. She timidly stepped onto the rug, her feet sinking into its warm softness. What a luxury to have something other than straw rushes to cover the floor.
“You’d best start talking,” Finch said more forcefully, clearly losing his patience.
Liza tore her eyes away from the warming flames and met Finch’s stare head on. Men were like dogs; they sensed fear. She had to be aggressive, and fearless.
“I had a brief association with your son in London before the trial,” Liza began.
“Yeh? So, what’s that to me? Got a bastard you want to foist on me now that Lionel is gone? I’ve had a few of Lionel’s whores try, and I showed them the back of my hand fast enough.”
Liza said a quick thanks for not trying that one on Finch, the elder. Had she tried, she might have lost her chance almost at once.
“I have some information that might be useful to you,” Liza said softly, waiting for the man to take the bait, but he turned away and stared into the flames, considering.
“I can’t imagine anything you might tell me which might be of any interest to me,” he finally replied.
“I know the whereabouts of certain people,” she offered, her eyes never leaving Finch’s bald head. He wasn’t looking at her, but she saw a minuscule change in his facial expression. He was listening.
“Oh, yeh? Like who?” he asked casually, still not turning his head to face her fully.
“Like Hugo Everly and your daughter-in-law,” Liza supplied. She suddenly realized that her information might be worthless. Gossip traveled fast, so Finch might already be aware of Hugo Everly’s return, but he would surely not know about Frances.
Josiah Finch finally turned to glare at Liza, his color h
igh, either from the heat of the fire or from emotion. Liza couldn’t tell which.
“Hugo Everly — damn his eyes — is back from wherever he’s been hiding, looking no worse for the wear considering that he was supposed to have been working off his indenture in the West Indies, and with a family in tow, no less,” Finch supplied. “And my daughter-in-law is of no interest to me.”
Liza opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly realized she wasn’t sure what to say. She groped desperately for some angle that would distract Josiah Finch from his belligerence and focus his mind on future action. “Don’t you want revenge?” she finally asked. “Hugo Everly and that girl were responsible for your son’s death.”
“Now, that’s where you are wrong, girl. My son was responsible for his own death, and no one else,” Finch countered. Liza thought he was finished with her, but he obviously needed someone to talk to about this, and she happened to be there.
“My son was a weak, cruel man who took pleasure in causing pain. ‘Twas the only way he could get a cockstand, I imagine. Frances was the ideal wife: a young, pretty girl who could be molded and subjugated, but my son wasn’t happy with that. He tortured her until she finally found whatever backbone she had and ran off with the first man who was chivalrous enough to offer his help. Can’t say I blame her. At least she got out alive, but it was a near thing, I tell you.”
Josiah Finch turned back to the flames, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I suppose Lionel got to Everly somehow after the trial, although God only knows who the man on trial was if he wasn’t Hugo Everly. Lionel wanted revenge for the slight to his honor, but if I know Everly, he is not a man to go meekly to his death. An idealistic fool that one, but a fighter. Hugo Everly is not the type of man to sit at home and count his blessings. Oh, no. Everly is the type who thinks he can change the world, and maybe he can. Look, we got us a Protestant king after all, even if it isn’t the one Everly was backing. So, best of luck to him and to Frances,” Finch finished, his eyes finally meeting Liza’s.
“But they were responsible for the death of your only son and heir,” Liza tried again.
“I have an heir,” Josiah Finch announced proudly, gratified to see Liza’s look of astonishment. “After Lionel’s death, I had no choice but to marry again, and I have a son and heir sleeping peacefully in his cradle after getting his fill of his mother’s ample breasts. And I will get that woman full in the belly again as soon as I can. Now, as you can see, your information is worthless to me, so get out of my sight, and take yourself back where you came from before I have you thrown out.”
Liza swallowed back tears of frustration as she left the room and made her way out the door through the darkened foyer. There was no one to show her out, nor was any hospitality offered, not even a warm drink. The snow had started again. She would freeze to death in the barn, even if she managed to get in undetected with her horse. No, she had to leave. Josiah Finch didn’t seem like a man who made idle promises. He would have her thrown out, and would likely cause her bodily harm if she didn’t do as she was bid. Liza felt in the pocket of her skirt for the coin she’d hidden there. It’d be enough to pay for a room, but she couldn’t afford to eat too. Her stomach growled in protest as she made her way back through the dark tunnel of the drive, eager to get away from the place. Even her horse was spooked by the eerie silence.
Damn the lot of them, she thought bitterly. Hugo Everly and his wife, Lionel Finch and his father, and most of all, Captain Norrington, who’d left her pregnant and heartbroken. She was woman enough to admit defeat this time, but she was a fighter, and she would rise again. There was still one more card she had to play. It was a dangerous one, but it just might pay off.
January 24th, 2015
Surrey, England
Chapter 39
Simon gazed around the church from his vantage point by the Cheshire Cat pillar, as he liked to think of it. He’d always loved that little face, especially when he was a boy coming to church services with his mother. He liked to pretend that it was the real Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland and it appeared and disappeared at will, materializing in different parts of the church during the sermon and playing clever tricks on the limited imagination of Reverend Lambert.
The reverend had been younger then, but just as boring. Blimey, if boring was a sport, the good reverend could bore for England, and no doubt qualify for first place, Simon thought as he recalled those long-ago hours spent sitting in the hard wooden pew. But today, he wasn’t here for the service. The church was decorated with white flowers and gauzy swaths of fabric, making it look like a garden in full bloom in the middle of winter. Heather had done a lovely job organizing the wedding, no thanks to him. He hadn’t seen her dress, but he was sure her gown would be beautiful; understated and classy. Heather had good taste, especially in men, as she liked to point out.
The church was filling up, pews dotted with the colorful outfits of the ladies who wore elaborate hats despite the dreadful weather. It had snowed the night before, but today was a combination of sleet and rain, which made the short trip to the church perilous. Still, everyone was on time. There were people from the village, including Doctor Lomax and his wife, who sat next to his mother as if he were family. Stella Harding was wearing an outfit in lavender with an elaborate hat, which completely blocked the person sitting behind her. Simon wasn’t quite sure if his mother had chosen lavender, the color of mourning, for his wedding as a not-so-subtle message. She never uttered a word of reproach, but he was beginning to realize that she didn’t care for Heather or her campaign to become the next Lady Everly.
Simon supposed that no one would be good enough for him in his mother’s eyes. She was the only person in this world who loved him unconditionally, and he returned that love tenfold. He hoped that his mother and Heather would get on, but knew with a dead certainty that if he were ever forced to choose between the two, his mother would always be the winner. Heather once called him a “mama’s boy,” but he wasn’t so much a mama’s boy as a grateful son who realized what his mother had given up to give him a good life and keep him in the orbit of his indifferent father, in the hope that one day, maybe a relationship would finally blossom between them, or at the very least, his father would feel guilty enough at the sight of him to do something for Simon’s future.
“Are you ready, old boy?” Jack asked as he came up behind Simon. Jack was his best mate and his best man. He’d thrown an epic stag do which Simon was still recovering from, truth be told, but he hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. He didn’t want to disrespect Heather that way. Some men felt that it was their last chance to sow their wild oats and shag some nameless slag, but Simon felt no such urge. Heather was insatiable when it came to sex, which in his mind, made her a good candidate for a wife. His friends always complained that their girlfriends made constant excuses to avoid sex, but he’d never complained himself. He was very happy in that department; it was the other stuff that worried him.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” Simon replied reluctantly, touching his fingers to the sly smile of the gargoyle. “Wish me luck, old friend,” he muttered to the amazed reaction of Jack.
“Have you been drinking?”
“No, but I suddenly wish I had,” Simon said as he made to step out from behind the pillar.
“The bride is here. Her limo just pulled up, and her father is helping her out of the car. He’ll have to carry her if she hopes to keep her dress from getting soaked. It’s nasty out there.”
Heather was there. Simon suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. He’d felt it last night as well, but now it was that much worse. He couldn’t breathe — couldn’t think straight. What the hell was he doing? He’d succumbed to Heather’s emotional blackmail and put a ring on her finger, but deep down he knew the truth — he didn’t want to marry her, at least not yet. He was barely twenty-six. His life was just beginning, and he was about to nip it in the bud. He had two friends who were already
married. Charlie was hopelessly whipped, needing his wife’s permission to so much as set foot into the pub with his friends for a few hours, and promising to do extra night feedings and nappy duty just to get an evening off. While Giles supplemented his unsatisfying sex life with Brandy every chance he could, frequently lying to his wife and saying that he was working late while he was out carousing. Giles said he couldn’t live on starvation rations, but his wife was the same woman who’d foregone underwear all through university for the sake of ready access, and sucked Giles off on the motorway while he drove, nearly causing a motor accident more than once.
Marriage changed people, especially women. Beautiful, sexy girls turned into tired, frustrated middle-aged women who traded in their short, tight dresses for tweeds and twin sets. Heather had already changed, he mused. She’d been fun and easygoing, but now she was suddenly acting as if she were royalty, practicing for her new station in life. Simon supposed he loved Heather as much as he could love any woman, but he simply wasn’t ready to get married and start a family. Heather had already announced that she wouldn’t be taking her birth-control pills on their wedding trip to Morocco. She wanted a boy, she said, an heir to the estate. That had been a jaw-dropper. What the hell did she think this was, the seventeenth century? An heir to the estate?! But Heather was determined.
“I’m ready, and you’d better be too, lover. I expect you to shag me stupid and bring me back home with a baby in my belly. Marcia said that doing it standing up against the wall ensures a better chance of having a boy,” Heather added. A year ago, Simon would have thought she was pulling his leg, but she was deadly serious.
Well, he could handle the shagging stupid part, but he didn’t want a baby. And, if Heather failed to get pregnant, there’d be IVF treatments, ejaculating into a cup, and constant hysterics. Sex would become a chore, something to be done with a purpose and at the proper time. Besides, he wasn’t ready to be a father any more than he was ready to be a husband. This wasn’t just a case of cold feet; this was his gut instinct telling him the truth, and if he didn’t listen within the next two minutes, it would be too late. But how could he humiliate Heather by leaving her at the altar in front of all these people?