The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Page 21

  “He’s not at all what I imagined,” Simon said after the door closed after Hugo.

  “No, he’s not. I had some preconceived notions about him myself, mostly based on what I’d heard from Max. Hugo is the best part of me,” I added, my voice quivering with emotion.

  “I think you might be the best part of him as well,” Simon replied, looking at me intently. I nodded in acknowledgement, suddenly feeling vulnerable in front of this young man who didn’t seem like a stranger anymore.

  “Neve, is Max really dead?” Simon asked, eager to change the subject. “I found something online, which stated that Lord Hugo Everly died shortly after arriving on a sugar plantation in Barbados. Since Lord Hugo Everly just went up to nurse his son’s bellyache, I can only assume that it was really Max who died.”

  “Simon, I don’t know exactly what happened to Max after the trial. He’d been sentenced to transportation, and Barbados was as likely a place as any for him to be sent to, but he either never made it to the West Indies, or managed to escape somehow since Hugo and I saw him in Paris in June of 1686.”

  “Really? Did you speak to him?” Simon asked, eager for details.

  “It wasn’t really a social occasion,” I replied, loath to tell Simon of Max’s plans for Hugo and myself. Max had been calm and collected, which made him that much scarier. Somewhere along the line, the charming man I’d met in the twenty-first century, who pursued me so gallantly, had become completely unhinged. His actions didn’t seem to be driven by passion, but by cold reason, his plan having been well thought out. Max had no qualms about killing an innocent man, or abducting a woman and child who’d done nothing to harm him. Whatever humanity he once possessed seemed to have been stripped away by his experiences, the line between right and wrong completely obliterated by his desire to preserve that which was his.

  Simon nodded in understanding, his expression going from hope to one of sadness. “Was he ill, do you think?”

  “Possibly. He looked unwell. I would think that if he were alive, he’d have returned by now. It’s been over three years since he went through the passage in the crypt,” I pointed out gently.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but were you two an item before you went into the past? Max spoke of you as if you were involved, and then didn’t mention you to me again. Of course, we didn’t speak as often as we used to once I became serious with Heather. We did meet up in London from time to time, for a drink or dinner.”

  “Max seemed to have something of a fixation with me,” I replied carefully, “that pitted him against Hugo and prevented any civil interaction between them.” That was the understatement of the year, but that was all I was willing to say. There was no reason for Simon to know the truth.

  “I thought as much,” Simon said as his eyes met mine.

  “What do you mean, Simon?”

  Simon looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat and stared into the fire for a moment, trying to determine how much to tell me. “Neve, Max never told me outright, but I had it on good authority from my mother, who’d known Max since he was a boy, that he suffered from something called the Histrionic Personality Disorder.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t really know anything about it. How does it manifest itself?” I asked, trying to recall if I’d ever heard anything. Being able to Google the symptoms would have been very handy at the moment, but I had to rely on Simon for an explanation.

  “Supposedly, Max’s case was mild,” Simon replied, still uncomfortable with the subject. He probably felt as if he were betraying Max, or his memory, but it seemed important enough that he felt the need to explain. “Max started showing symptoms when he was a teenager, so his mother promptly took him to some hotshot therapist in Harley Street who told her that the onset of puberty often brought on manifestation of the disorder. Max never took any medication for it, but he did have ongoing therapy, which his parents kept hush-hush. I am no expert on the disorder, but my mother told me that the person tends to distort relationships in their mind, thinking them more intimate than they really are, always wants to be the center of attention, and suffers from mood swings and occasional paranoia. Did you have a relationship with him, or did he just conjure it up in his mind?” Simon asked, still curious.

  “We had a few dates, that was all, but Max seemed to think that we had a definite future. Now I understand why he became so territorial and took such a dislike toward Hugo. He seemed to believe that Hugo had come to the twenty-first century to usurp his life, and blamed Hugo for his arrest when Hugo was nowhere near Cranley when it happened.”

  Simon nodded in understanding. “Max worked really hard to control his symptoms, but there were times, particularly when he got emotional over something, when he lost control. His last fixation had been running for Parliament. His mother was very much in favor, but my mother thought that the stress of life in politics might cause him irreparable harm. Country life suited him best, and if he’d found a woman who loved him, I believe that his condition could have been managed with patience and support.”

  I decided not to point out to Simon that Max’s case was probably a lot more severe than he thought. What was the point? Max was gone, and Simon would soon be gone as well. At least his explanation had shed some light on Max’s irrational behavior and thirst for vengeance.

  “Will you tell Hugo?” Simon asked, his eyes asking me not to.

  “Would you rather I didn’t?”

  “I don’t feel right about betraying something so personal. Max would be really angry with me if he knew. It’s enough that you know. Isn’t it?”

  “Simon, you have my word. There’s no need for Hugo to know. It’s all in the past now anyway. Or in the future. Depends how you look at it,” I joked lamely.

  “I do wish he would have found his way back,” Simon said wistfully.

  “So, you believe he is dead?” I asked carefully, needing reassurance that Simon had no plans of a rescue mission.

  “What would he be doing in France for two and a half years? Surely, he would have found his way back by now if he wished to return. The most likely explanation is that Max died. I am truly the last of the Everlys now,” Simon sighed, “not a distinction I ever wanted. I don’t want Max’s life, Neve. I don’t care to be the lord of the manor. I just want my life back.”

  “I understand.” And I did. Being Lady Everly had changed my life as well, and I often felt like an impostor, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I was just Neve Ashley, not a noblewoman with a houseful of servants and people curtsying to me as if I were the bloody Queen of England. Sometimes I missed being a nobody.

  “I suppose it’s safe for me to go back now,” Simon said reluctantly, his gaze on the folds of Hugo’s coat.

  “The church might be locked up for the night. Why don’t you stay? Things always look brighter in the morning,” I suggested, knowing that Simon really wasn’t ready to go.

  “Thank you, Neve, I would like that. I’m just not ready to face the music. Not yet.”

  “Will you be able to sleep?” I asked, feeling sorry for him despite his dishonorable behavior.

  “I think so. Actually, I feel emotionally drained. This has been one of the most dramatic days of my life,” he added with a rueful smile.

  “Let me show you up to your room then. I’ll send one of the maids to light the fire. I assume you are not very handy with tinder and flint.”

  **

  Simon stayed the night, but by morning, having had a hearty breakfast, was ready to go back. All the wedding guests would have departed, and it was safe to return to Everly Manor and face the consequences of his escape. I had to admit that it was a relief. Having Simon with us made me feel unsettled, especially when he was full of news of the life I’d left behind. We spent some time talking about music, books, and films before Simon finally went up; things that I missed dreadfully. Simon even imparted some gossip about the royal family and world events. I had to confess that I missed watching the world do its thin
g from behind the safety of the walls of my flat; watching politics playing out on television rather than in my own house.

  I returned Simon’s morning suit, but lent him Archie’s cloak to wear over it on the way to the church so as not to attract too much attention from the villagers. I’d walk over with him and distract Reverend Snow if necessary while Simon made his getaway. Simon was pensive as we walked toward the church, his mind already on his own time and the bollocking he would get from Heather. I’d never met the woman, but from everything I’d heard, she didn’t seem the type of woman who would let Simon off without inflicting a few battle scars.

  I was surprised when Simon stopped in the churchyard and glanced toward Elena’s grave, as if he knew it’d be there. “I’m sorry about your daughter,” he said. “I can’t imagine how painful it must be to lose a child.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” was all I could say with the huge lump lodged in my throat.

  “Look, Neve,” he began, his eyes sliding away from mine for a moment, as if he were afraid I’d see too much in them. “There might come a time when you decide that this life is no longer for you. If ever you come back, know that I would be happy to help you with whatever you need: money, a place to stay, a convincing story….” Simon pulled a card out of his wallet and placed it in my hand, folding my fingers around it. “Don’t throw this away.”

  “Simon, is there something you are not telling me?” I asked, as my heart did a summersault of foreboding in my chest.

  “No, no, of course not. You’ve been so kind to me, so understanding. I just want you to know that I would be happy to return the favor.”

  We both knew he was lying, but I thanked him and slid the card into the pocket of my gown. I would keep it as a talisman. It was only when you lost something that you really needed it, so as long as I had the card, everything would be all right.

  “Goodbye and good luck, Simon. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Simon pulled me into an embrace and kissed my cheek. “Goodbye, your ladyship,” he said with a smile.

  I stood in the nave for a moment, listening to the silence once Simon left. I felt strangely hollow as I walked slowly toward the door and left the church, my footsteps turning toward Elena’s grave, as they always did.

  Chapter 44

  Hugo stood by the parlor window, watching Neve as she walked up the hill toward the house, her eyes downcast, her step slow. Having Simon stay with them even for a few hours had unsettled her more than she cared to admit, and Hugo was glad to see the back of him. Hugo didn’t want to judge a man he barely knew, but Simon’s actions were irresponsible and cowardly, not the actions of an honorable man. Granted, honor wasn’t a highly valued commodity in the future; it was every man for himself, even if that man left a trail of bodies in his wake. Perhaps this Heather was lucky to have escaped marrying a man who was so easily spooked.

  Hugo abandoned his position by the window and went out to meet Neve. He hadn’t bothered to get his cloak or gloves, and the frigid air assaulted him the moment he stepped outside. His breath came out in clouds of vapor, and his face prickled with the cold, but he had something that would take Neve’s mind off Simon and the twenty-first century, something she would be excited about despite her glum mood, and he didn’t want to wait a moment longer to tell her. Two letters had been delivered yesterday, but Hugo had waited to open them, saving them for a time when he would be able to read them in peace and share them with Neve.

  “Is he gone?” Hugo asked unnecessarily as he met Neve halfway up the hill. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she gladly accepted his hand since her leather boots didn’t have much purchase on frost-covered grass.

  “Yes, he is. I was actually sad to see him go,” Neve said. Her tone was one of surprise, but Hugo could understand her reaction to Simon. Simon was an added complication, one they didn’t need in their life, but he had been a messenger from the future — a window into the life she’d left behind. Neve rarely spoke of the future, but Hugo knew that there were moments when she missed that other world, and some of the people in it.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your cloak?” Neve asked reproachfully as Hugo shivered. She was terrified of anyone getting ill, especially now.

  “I only came out for a few minutes. I’m fine, really. Come inside, I have something to show you,” Hugo said as they finally crested the hill and walked up the drive. Neve undid the clasp of her cloak, pulled off her gloves, and removed her hat, handing them all to Harriet, who looked unusually tired having joined the wedding party last night. She had imbibed her fair share of the mead that Brad had contributed to the festivities, and the effects were obvious. Cook looked a bit sluggish this morning as well, her normally rosy cheeks pale beneath her puffy eyes.

  “Any sign of the newlyweds?” Neve asked Harriet, who blushed as if it were her wedding night instead of Frances’s.

  “Not yet, your ladyship.”

  “Good,” Neve replied, making Harriet blush even deeper as she turned to put away Neve’s things.

  “Harriet, bring some mulled wine, please,” Hugo called after the maid as he invited Neve into his study.

  “So what do you want to show me?” Neve asked as she settled in the chair closest to the hearth and held out her hands to the fire.

  Hugo triumphantly held up two letters. “Letters from Jem and Clarence. Which should I read first?”

  He knew exactly what Neve would say. The letter from Clarence would not be nearly as interesting as the one from Jem. Clarence wrote to Hugo about once a year, a perfunctory reply which told Hugo that he was well, and the estate was prospering. What Hugo read between the lines was actually more informative. Clarence never asked after Hugo or the family, and never implied that he would like a reunion. In fact, as time went by, the letters actually grew terser, which led Hugo to believe that Clarence still blamed him for Jane’s death, and his resentment grew rather than abated. But now that they were back in England, Hugo hoped to repair his relationship with Clarence and had said as much in the letter he’d dispatched a month ago.

  “Read the one from Clarence first,” Neve said, her voice indifferent.

  Hugo broke the seal and glanced over the letter. It was only about three sentences, but it said it all.

  Uncle,

  I was surprised to hear of your return to England. Thank you for your invitation, but a visit would not be convenient at this time as I am much occupied with estate matters. Perhaps we will see each other at some point in the future.

  I hope you and your family are in good health.

  Clarence Hiddleston

  “As expected then,” Neve said as she looked over at Hugo. “He doesn’t wish to come here, nor does he invite you to visit him in Kent. Will you keep trying?”

  “He’s my only nephew, Neve. I know he blames me for Jane’s death because it’s easier than accepting the truth, but in time, perhaps he will be ready to hear me out.” Hugo wasn’t convinced this was true, but he meant to keep trying. Clarence had been only thirteen the last time he saw him, and he was a sullen, often spiteful boy, but Hugo had seen a different Clarence when they’d gone fishing and hunting a few times. Clarence took a while to warm up, but once he did, he enjoyed himself, and forgot to sulk long enough to tell Hugo something of his hopes and dreams. Perhaps Hugo could manage to appeal to that Clarence and try to mend the fences one post at a time.

  “Read the letter from Jemmy,” Neve said, no longer interested in Clarence. “Oh, I do miss him, Hugo. I’d sent a letter a few weeks back inviting Nicholas and Jem to the wedding. It was to be a surprise,” Neve added sadly, disappointed that no one came.

  Hugo unfolded the letter, which was a lot longer and written in the neat hand of someone who wanted to make a good impression. They hadn’t had a letter from Jem in over a year, so any news would be welcome. The letter was dated two weeks prior, so it had been written shortly after Nicholas received Neve’s letter inviting them to Everly Manor. Jem wrote:

  Dear
Lord and Lady Everly,

  Thank you for your kind invitation to Archie and Franny’s wedding. Father and I so wanted to come and see you all, but stepmother Anne took with a terrible chest cold and passed in her sleep three days later. We were all saddened by her passing, but I think Father was also partially relieved as things between them have been less than cordial. Father is quite fond of a certain young lady, and I think I might have a new stepmother before the summer is out. She is beautiful and charming, and reminds me of her ladyship, so I look forward to this most welcome change.

  Father engaged a tutor for me as soon as we returned to England, and I have been hard at work. Master Thompson is a man of five and twenty and has a talent for making history come alive. I’m still not over-fond of mathematics, but Master Thompson says that I’ll do. I am learning Latin and Greek, and as a reward for my efforts, Master Thompson has gifted me with a book on Greek mythology, which I quite enjoy. When not applying myself to my studies, I am out on the estate with Father. He is teaching me the running of the place, and I must confess, I find it more interesting than I thought I might.

  Father bought me a splendid horse. It’s a chestnut mare, and I called her Coco because she reminds me of the chocolate Frances and I used to drink for breakfast. Please tell Archie about the horse; I think he would be much impressed.

  I hope you are all doing well. I miss everyone, and would have liked to be there to tease Frances on her wedding day. I know she was a beautiful bride, and a clever one if she managed to bring Archie to heel.

  Uncle Luke has also gotten married. He married in Constantinople, but is now back in England, having lost the taste for politics. He sends regards, as does Father.

  Your obedient servant,