Sins of Omission

by Irina Shapiro

  “Indeed, but not as beautiful as his mistress,” the captain cackled happily. “They say the girl is exquisite.”

  “Mistress?” Max couldn’t have heard the captain correctly, but the mischievous twinkle in the captain’s eyes told him that he had.

  “Oh, yes. She’s supposedly Lord Everly’s ward, but she is no relation to the family, and he’s very protective of her. The wife seems to accept the situation. Many men take mistresses while their wives are with child, and for some time after, but few of them parade them so openly.”

  “And who is this mistress?” Max asked, utterly scandalized. Hugo didn’t seem like the type of man who’d be so callous, but then again, how well did he really know him? And was it possible that Neve loved him so much that she was willing to allow herself to be humiliated, or did she not know the truth? Max wondered.

  “Frances something or other,” the captain replied as he helped himself to more fruit.

  “Frances?” Max nearly choked.

  “You know her too?”

  “She’s the woman Hugo was said to have abducted after he nearly killed her husband.”

  “There, you see? Obviously his mistress,” Benoit concluded as he let out a soft burp. “You English are something, and you say the French are immoral. I wish I had relatives who are half as interesting as yours.”

  You don’t know the half of it, Max thought bitterly as he pushed away his plate. Hugo was supposed to be dead; gone without leaving an heir. According to family history, he’d vanished in the spring of 1685 just before being arrested for treason. Hugo had never married, and had never had a legitimate or illegitimate child, as far as anyone knew. And now, here he was, living in Paris with a wife who fit Neve’s description, by whom he had a living child, and a mistress who could also conceive.

  Max had promised himself that he would find his way back to England and return to his twenty-first-century life as soon as possible. He would be grateful for that life, and never again give Hugo Everly another thought, but fate was having a good laugh right about now, taunting Max with the knowledge that his enemy was not only within reach, but on the brink of changing history and writing Max out of the equation since Max was a descendant of Clarence Hiddleston, Hugo’s nephew. If Hugo had a living child, Max would come back to the future to find himself disinherited and destitute, Everly Manor belonging to whomever was Hugo’s descendant in the future. No, he couldn’t allow this to happen; not after everything he’d been through.

  “Tell me, Captain, how will Banjo get to Paris?” Max asked, keeping his voice casual as he cut up a piece of pineapple.

  “Oh, I will personally take him to Paris and oversee his placement with a good family, for the boy’s sake, of course,” the captain replied with a sly smile which led Max to believe that a “good family” was optional as long as the price was right and they took the child off his hands.

  “Of course. Would it be at all possible to travel with you as far as Paris? I would very much like to see Hugo again. It’s been ages; feels like centuries as a matter of fact,” Max quipped as he studied the captain’s well-fed face.

  “Of course. I’d be glad of the company,” the captain replied sleepily. His eyelids were drooping, and he seemed ready for his bed, which was just fine with Max. After spending so much time alone with his thoughts over the past six months, he was somewhat overwhelmed by this drawn-out social ritual and was ready for a bit of quiet.

  “Thank you for the delicious dinner, Captain Benoit. I will leave you to rest now,” Max said as he gave a slight bow and let himself out of the cabin. His stomach was pleasantly full and his senses dulled by the excellent wine, but instead of going back to his cabin, Max went up on deck, desperate to walk off some of the agitation he was feeling after learning about Hugo. He needed a plan, and a good one.

  April 2014

  Surrey, England

  Chapter 32

  Simon Harding stood next to his mother in the church graveyard as Reverend Lambert droned on, extolling the virtues of Lady Naomi Everly, who had left them all too soon. In Simon’s opinion, she hadn’t left soon enough, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He wasn’t a mean-spirited person by nature, but Naomi Everly had always treated him like a servant, as if the world were still divided into Upstairs and Downstairs. Now that he knew the truth of his parentage, he realized that perhaps the disdain Naomi Everly had felt for him was due less to the fact that he was the housekeeper’s son, and more to the fact that he was her husband’s by-blow. Lady Everly was not the type of woman to ever acknowledge the affair, or lower herself to confronting the other woman, but frosty as she had been, she must have felt hurt on some level, especially since Simon’s mother had carried on with Lord Roland Everly for years.

  Roland Everly hadn’t limited himself to just his wife and his lover, of course, but had other affairs along the way. None of them lasted longer than a few months, or so he told Stella, who remained faithful to him through the years, much like his wife. It seemed that the two women in his life remained with him for different reasons, however. Naomi relished her wealth and position and wouldn’t contemplate divorce for fear of scandal; not that anyone would care much these days, not since Charles and Diana divorced. If the Prince of Wales could do it, a minor lord’s reputation would not be tarnished in the slightest. Stella Harding, however, stayed with Roland Everly for a completely different reason. She actually loved that selfish, preening wanker who turned out to be Simon’s natural father, and hoped that if she remained loyal and loving, Roland would do something for his youngest son.

  Simon never did understand why his mother’s employer offered to pay for his education and gave him a monthly allowance, but now everything made sense at last. He’d been shocked and angry when his mother first came clean, but now, several months later, Simon was coming to terms with his new status. He still had no wish to live at Everly Manor, but had managed to access the business accounts and keep the museum and the estate going from his London flat. He’d only come down to Surrey once since his mother’s confession, leaving Stella Harding to supervise everything while visiting Naomi at the nursing home daily and watching her condition deteriorate, until her heart finally gave out last week.

  The coffin was finally lowered into the yawning hole, and the mourners began to disperse, walking or driving back to the manor house for refreshments and a bit of a chinwag before getting back to their daily lives and dismissing Naomi Everly from their thoughts. Simon desperately wanted to get into his car and drive back to London, but he’d promised his mother that he would stay for the wake and help her clean up afterward. Heather had promised to come along, but bailed on him at the last minute, citing work commitments she couldn’t get out of on such short notice. Simon strongly suspected that his girlfriend simply had no wish to attend the funeral of a woman she’d never met but despised by osmosis, and would much rather just go to a pub with her friends or spend a quiet night on the sofa watching Downton Abbey. He couldn’t really blame her; he had no wish to be here either.

  Simon still wished on a daily basis that Max would come back from wherever it was he’d disappeared to and take this responsibility off Simon’s shoulders. Simon was happy with his life, and had no desire to play lord of the manor; that was Max’s job, and Max had relished it, which made his disappearance all the more strange and sinister. Simon might be wearing a fine suit and driving a flashy car, but deep down he was still Little Simon, the housekeeper’s son who was always underfoot annoying Lord and Lady Everly and tagging after Max.

  For some reason, Simon didn’t believe Max to be dead. He’d worshipped Max when he was a child, and Max, in turn, treated Simon like a little brother. They hadn’t spent much time together since Simon left for university, but had met for a drink or dinner from time to time in London, and the old bond was still there. They were brothers after all, not that either one of them had known. Perhaps Max had guessed, since he was older and more aware of what was going on between the adults. Was that wh
y he never told Simon to sod off despite the difference in their age and social standing? Simon wondered.

  I’d know it in my bones if Max were dead, he thought as he turned away from the grave and followed his mother through the church gate. He opened the car door for her, eliciting a small smile of gratitude as she got in. She looked harsh in her unrelieved black, but she was still a good-looking woman. Simon had seen the doctor eyeing her across the open grave, despite his wife standing stiffly next to him and staring straight ahead from under the wide brim of her hat. His mother and the doctor had been friends since grammar school, and Simon always suspected there might have been more to that relationship. There was a time when he thought that David Lomax was his father, but that theory turned out to be rubbish. He honestly couldn’t say if he would have preferred to be David’s son. At least David Lomax was still alive, so he might have had a chance of a relationship with him. It was too late to get to know Roland Everly, and too late to be a brother to Max. Simon often wished that he’d had a sibling, and he might have had, had his mother ever wised up and found someone who was willing to share his life with her. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for her to find love, even if it was too late to have more children.

  Simon would have no objection to Stella finding a companion; a subject he brought up to her only yesterday as he helped her prepare quiches and crudité for today’s wake. She scoffed at him, but he’d give it a little time and bring it up again. Naomi had remained alone after her husband’s death, and where had that gotten her? Rather than enjoy what was left of her life, she drove Max to distraction and badgered him with never-ending demands for grandchildren. It was sad really, that she never lived to be a grandmother, Simon mused as he drove through the manor gates, the tires crunching on gravel as he turned into an available parking spot. Stella got out of the car and hurried inside, but Simon lingered in the car park for a few moments to smoke a cigarette, preoccupied with his thoughts.

  Naomi claimed until the very last that Max was still alive; perhaps she knew something the rest of them didn’t. But now that she was gone, and Max was God only knew where, Simon was for all intents and purposes the new Lord Everly, although a very reluctant one. Simon gazed up at the massive stone façade of the house as he stubbed out his cigarette. “If needs must...,” he mumbled to himself as he squared his shoulders and marched up the steps.

  April, 1686

  Aboard the La Belle

  Chapter 33

  For the first few days of the voyage, Max just sat on deck and enjoyed the sunshine, a fresh briny breeze, and the intoxicating feeling of being alive and free. He’d forgotten what it was like to be master of his own time, and not have to do backbreaking work for twelve to fourteen hours a day, stopping long enough only to eat and sleep. He still had to remind himself every morning that this wasn’t a dream, and he was actually on his way back to Europe. Max had to admit that it was ironic, given the circumstances, but he’d never been happier. Coming so close to losing one’s life and then losing one’s freedom, had a way of putting things into perspective and making him appreciate what he’d taken for granted for so long.

  Max closed his eyes, oblivious to all the activity around him. He heard Banjo’s squeal of delight as the boy was allowed to climb up the rigging with one of the sailors and look out over the sea, which sparkled in the morning sun and was as flat and still as an unrolled bale of blue silk. Banjo seemed to be enjoying himself. He’d quickly gotten over his shyness and fear and was running around, exploring the ship to his heart’s content, and visiting the galley in the hopes of getting something to eat. The sailors treated him like an adorable pet, and Banjo was enjoying the kind of attention he’d never gotten before. Even the captain seemed to have taken to the boy. He invited him up on deck and allowed him to steer the ship, which sent Banjo into raptures.

  Captain Benoit expected to dock in Le Havre in the first week of June, so Max didn’t feel any immediate pressure to make decisions, not that there were many decisions to make. He could either go on to Paris with the captain or find a vessel bound for England, offer to work for his passage, then hitch a ride with some farmer to Surrey, and hopefully return to his own time. Max’s rational side told him to concentrate his energies on going home, but his emotional side wouldn’t let his grudge against Hugo rest. The captain had no idea whether Hugo’s offspring was a boy or a girl, but it really didn’t matter. Even if Hugo had a daughter, the course of history had already been altered, and there was nothing to stop him from having a son, which would leave Max nothing to come back to once he returned to the twenty-first century. Would he remember any of this, or would he go back to a life he hadn’t known before entering the passage in the crypt? Was that even possible? Max wondered as he stared out over the expanse of water. Would all his memories be wiped out if the succession had been altered and he was no longer Lord Everly when he came back?

  Max leaned back against the solid oak of the mast and watched a lone seagull circle above before it dove in to catch its prey and came up with a fish flapping it its beak. That’s what I must do, Max thought, circle my prey until I know for sure that it’s the right moment to strike. The thought made Max feel suddenly more hopeful. He couldn’t possibly take on Hugo outright, but if he devised a clever plan, perhaps Hugo Bloody Everly could just fall into his trap, and Max could reset history by getting rid of the man once and for all.

  Max smiled as Banjo catapulted from the cargo hold and came to stand in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. He was wearing a red kerchief around his neck, no doubt given to him by the sailors, and a straw hat which was way too big for his head and would be blown off by the first gust of wind. He really was a cute little tyke, and had an endearing way about him which appealed to Max.

  “Can I sit with you, massa?” Banjo asked, using the form of address the slaves used for their masters.

  “Of course you can sit with me. And stop calling me by that ridiculous name; I’m not your master, Banjo,” Max chided the boy good-naturedly. “Just call me Max.”

  “Yes, massa,” Banjo answered automatically as he plopped down next to Max. “Are you watching the birds?”

  “I am,” Max replied with a chuckle. He supposed there were worse things he could be called, although the name made him feel uncomfortable, especially after what he’d witnessed over the past few months. He didn’t want Banjo to associate him with cruelty and oppression, but he doubted the boy gave the title much thought. It was simply what he was used to, and since Max was no longer a slave, he saw him as a master, since he didn’t know what category to place him in. Max shrugged in resignation and turned to Banjo, who was staring open-mouthed at a large pelican that was perched on one of the cross-bars of the mast, its wings folded and its head held regally as it surveyed the calm waters of the Caribbean in search of its next meal.

  “Why don’t you get some stale bread from the galley and maybe we can feed the birds together,” Max suggested, enjoying the boy’s company. “I don’t think pelicans eat bread, but there are plenty of seagulls about,” Max called after Banjo as he ran off happily.

  Max had never given much thought to having children despite his mother’s nagging, but he always knew that at some point he would, and at thirty-five, he realized that he was ready for a family. Perhaps men had a biological clock as well, although theirs was more emotional than physical. Children seemed like a burden and a drain on one’s time and finances only a few years before, but by the time Max reached his mid-thirties, he started to long for a child of his own, and a woman who would be more than a sexual partner or someone to spend time with when he was in the mood for female company. Of course, his mother wished him to have a son to carry on the family name and inherit the title, but Max had to admit that the thought of having a daughter was just as appealing. There was something so precious and vulnerable about little girls. He wanted to be his daughter’s hero, her protector and mentor. But a boy would be just as nice, Max mused.

  Spending time with Ban
jo had been an unexpected treat, and Max suddenly felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of all the things he’d missed out on so far. He had a brief vision of himself playing with a toddler as Neve looked on happily, her hand on her swollen belly. Why can’t I just let her go? Max thought angrily. He’d never even slept with her, but her face haunted him as if she’d been the great love of his life. Had he actually gotten to be with her, he might have tired of her, or found her to be too clingy or too distant, but not having known her in that way, Max had put her on a pedestal and painted her as the perfect woman; the one who got away. How had Hugo snatched her away from him when they might have been happy together? Neve should have, and would have chosen him had she had more time to get to know him, to love him; Max was sure of it. She’d enjoyed spending time with him, and he’d seen the beginnings of affection in her eyes when they went out together, but now it was too late. She’d married Hugo and given him a child, a child who would change the future and rewrite the past.

  Max shook his head to chase the image away. She was Hugo’s, at least for now. Her happiness will be short-lived, if she is indeed happy living in exile with a traitor and a cheat, Max thought. Perhaps she’d like to go back with him and forget Hugo. The “charms” of seventeenth-century life must have worn off somewhat by now. After all, this was hardly Wonderland. Perhaps he could play on Neve’s homesickness and possible regrets to win her back. He’d even be willing to adopt her child, take it back to the future, and raise it as his own. He resented Hugo, but having spent time with Banjo, was sure that he could grow to love a child for itself, despite its parentage.