The Passage

by Irina Shapiro

  “Why would you want me to pose as your mistress?” I cried, still stunned by his suggestion.

  “You can travel as my servant if you prefer, but I think you would be much more comfortable as my mistress, and your presence would be more acceptable. Please don’t worry; I have no intention of forcing you to fulfill any romantic obligations, unless you really want to,” he added with an impish grin. “You will have to pretend to be enamored of me, however, or the ploy will fail. Do you think you can manage that for a few hours at a time?”

  “I’m not going with you,” I spat out. Could he really force me? I just wanted to get away from this house and this bloody man. It seemed that every time I got near him, something unexpected happened, and I found myself thrown off balance and not in control of my life.

  “Yes, you are. You can come willingly, and we can try to make the best of the situation, or you can come against your will. I have the means and the manpower to keep you locked up,” he replied pleasantly and took another sip of his wine. He finally rose to his feet and took me gently by the elbow, nudging me toward the stairs. I meekly walked ahead of him, knowing that if I were to escape, I’d have to wait till morning anyway.

  “Good night, Neve,” Hugo said pleasantly as he shut the door and turned the key.

  Chapter 17

  I spent the night tossing and turning, my overwrought mind searching for a way out of my predicament. I would have one chance to get away from Hugo when we set out in the morning, but if that failed, my chances of escape would dwindle with every passing mile. I had no money and no way to return to the church except on foot, and the further we got from Everly Manor, the harder it would be for me to find my way back and do it in a way that would keep me out of Hugo’s way. He would be able to catch me in minutes on horseback.

  I finally fell asleep from sheer exhaustion in the small hours, but was awoken by the opening of the door and the sour face of the serving girl who brought me hot water for washing. She didn’t say anything, but her demeanor oozed contempt, and I wondered why she should be so predisposed against me when she had seemed courteous enough before. Perhaps she’d overheard something, but I couldn’t imagine why she’d care one way or the other. I was a stranger who was about to depart and possibly never come back, so why the sudden hostility?

  “Good morning,” I ventured, but the girl just harrumphed and left, slamming the door behind her. I rinsed my mouth for lack of a toothbrush, washed my face and hands and brushed my hair with the brush the girl left behind. Hugo had mentioned Jane’s gowns, and I hoped I wasn’t expected to try them on as I had my own underwear beneath my dress, and that would raise a few eyebrows. I was just about to leave the room when the same sullen girl returned, her arms full of clothing and underthings. There were lots of bits and pieces due to the amount of layers that covered a well-dressed woman, and the maid dumped them all on the bed and began to sort through the pile. Her demeanor had vastly improved, since Jane was right behind her, her own face creased by frowning. I wasn’t sure what Hugo told her, but if she knew what I’d told him last night, she would not be too eager to help me.

  “Good morrow,” she said without preamble. “Hugo asked me to lend you a few gowns and other necessities for the journey. He’s rather taken with you,” Jane said, eyeing me with wonder as if trying to understand what it was about me that so captivated her brother. “I’ve never known him to act rashly when it came to women, but it appears he doesn’t wish to be parted from you.” Jane smiled, and her face was transformed, reminding me how beautiful she was when I’d seen her in my dream. So, Hugo hadn’t told her the truth after all. He’d led her to believe that I was really going to be his mistress. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Jane thought of me at present, but I couldn’t be bothered to decipher her feelings. I had enough problems of my own, and being perceived as a trollop wasn’t one of them.

  “I hope you like the gowns. They might be a trifle out of date; I haven’t had any new clothes made while Ernest was ill.”

  “They’re lovely, Jane, especially this one.” I held up a silk gown in a gorgeous shade of moss green. The fabric shimmered in the early-morning light, the color rippling like water in a still pond as it moved fluidly, the silk making an almost imperceptible flutter as it whispered of opulence and seduction. It was embroidered with a pattern of dainty golden flowers with red centers, and the full sleeves were slashed with gold and accentuated with deep red ribbons to pick up the red in the blossoms. A decorative petticoat would be worn beneath the overskirt, possibly in a shade of cream or ochre. A pair of red velvet court shoes came with the gown and Jane shyly handed me a case containing a ruby necklace and matching earrings.

  “Hugo said you’d need to look beautiful,” she said. “Would you like to try them on?”

  “Jane, I don’t feel right taking these things from you,” I said, feeling embarrassed by her generosity. “They are so beautiful.”

  “I won’t be needing them for a while, and I know you’ll return them when you come back. Besides, I want you to look your best for Hugo.”

  The maid looked as if she were about to be sick, but I ignored her and sorted through the other gowns. She wouldn’t be the first woman to have feelings for her employer, and Hugo was handsome, I’d give him that. Besides, I had no designs on him, but I could hardly tell her that, especially in front of Jane. Hugo had his reasons for not telling his sister the truth, and it wasn’t for me to straighten her out. If he wanted Jane to think that I was his lover, then he’d have to be the one to explain things to her when I disappeared from their lives. In the meantime, I had to figure out the intricacies of a seventeenth-century trousseau. Some dresses came in several parts; the bodice separate from the sleeves, and the skirt worn over an underskirt of a different color and fabric. There were silk stockings of various colors, several chemises, an embroidered stomacher, and a fontage headdress to be worn in a place that, hopefully, had high doorways, or it would be knocked right off since it rose inches above my head. I hoped I wouldn’t need any of these things since I would try to make a run for the church as soon as I ventured outside.

  **

  My hopes of escape were dashed the minute I stepped into the yard. I’d assumed that Hugo and I would be traveling alone, but the yard was bustling with activity. Several horses were already saddled, three of them laden with heavy saddlebags, and several men were completing the preparations as they bantered cheerfully between themselves. I couldn’t help noticing that they were heavily armed and unusually burly, which was probably why Hugo had selected them to accompany him. Several dogs yapped at their ankles, making the horses nervous and filling the yard with a cacophony of sound.

  The rain had stopped, but thick fog swirled close to the ground, making everything appear as if it were wrapped in cotton wool. Every surface was slick with moisture, and large puddles glistened in the muddy yard. The maid, whose name was Liza, came out and called to one of the men to come get my valise. She threw me a filthy look and disappeared inside, leaving me to stand alone on the steps. My eyes filled with tears of frustration as I felt my hopes dissipate, but I didn’t want Hugo to see me crying. He would either feel sorry for me or think me a weakling, but neither opinion would change his mind about taking me along. He came strolling out of the house dressed for traveling, an elaborately decorated baldrick over his right shoulder leading to the sword at his left hip. So, he felt the need to be armed as well, which was even more disturbing. Where was he taking me? Hugo gave me an elaborate bow and smiled at me as he looked up, the message in his eyes clear – remember our agreement and play your part.

  “Mistress Ashley, may I present Archie Hicks, Arnold Sullivan, and Peter Yates. They will accompany us on our journey,” he added by way of explanation. The three men bowed to me and muttered, “Good day, Mistress Ashley.” They were deferential to me, so I assumed that just like Jane, they were told that I was his lordship’s mistress. Peter Yates helped me mount the mare that was assigned to me and I pa
tted the smooth brown neck, hoping that we would get along. Thankfully, I knew how to ride, but I hadn’t been on a horse in ages, and the prospect of spending days in the saddle left me wishing once again that I had never followed my instinct and returned to the past.

  While the men completed their preparations and mounted their own horses, I had a chance to study them at close range. Arnold and Peter were both close to forty, tall by seventeenth-century standards, stocky, and swarthy, with dark hair, dark eyes and bushy beards. I thought I noticed a familial resemblance, but their surnames were different, so cousins perhaps. Their faces showed very little, their eyes fixed on the task at hand, their movements measured and deliberate. Archie, on the other hand, was a totally different kettle of fish. He was in his mid-twenties, with bright, curious eyes the color of a summer sky and a shock of ginger hair that matched the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. I reckon he was popular with the village girls, if he wasn’t already taken. Peter and Arnold avoided looking at me after the introduction, but Archie openly studied me, giving me an impish grin when I met his stare. He tipped his hat to me in an exaggerated gesture of gentlemanly behavior, making me wonder if he were laughing at me.

  As the horses began to walk out of the yard, I was surprised to see a young boy rush out of the stables, step up on the mounting block and swing into the saddle of a mule that had been placidly standing by. The boy looked to be no more than ten years old, but he had a knowing gaze that belied his years, and a confident manner that left me wondering who he was. Unlike the rest of the men, he was dressed not in homespun, but in a suit of brown velvet and good leather boots. His unruly dark hair was covered by a chapeau which matched his cloak, and he appeared to have a sword at his side made to accommodate his small stature.

  “Wait for me,” he called out as he dug his heels into the sides of his mule. No one paid much attention to him besides me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off this little boy-man who seemed so sure of his place in Hugo’s entourage. Hugo turned back briefly and tipped his hat to the boy, eliciting a smile of such pure delight from the child that I couldn’t help smiling myself.

  Jane waved through the window as we rode away, her face dissolving in the fog mere moments after we trudged through the gate. I looked longingly in the direction of the church, but Hugo gave me a warning look that put paid to any idea I might have had of galloping across the open field toward my sanctuary. I didn’t stand a chance. We skirted the village, and within a half hour were alone on the dirt road, the village far behind. I was surprised to see a signpost that read “Cranley” instead of “Craleigh” pointing back in the direction of the village, but it wasn’t uncommon for spelling to change over time.

  “How are you this morning, Mistress Ashley?” Hugo asked as he rode next to me, his wig and plumed hat making him look like a stranger. “I hope you found Jane’s gowns to your liking?”

  “Yes, thank you, they are beautiful,” I answered absentmindedly. I was trying to focus on the landscape in case I managed to get away, but it all looked much the same: green, wet, and mostly uninhabited except for the occasional farmhouse with a smoking chimney just visible between the swirls of fog. Even the animals looked depressed, the cows just lying like huge brown boulders on the ground and the sheep bleating pitifully as they wandered around in search of new grass.

  “We’ll be stopping for the night at Sir Benedict Nolan’s house. He’s a devoted subject of the king and an ardent supporter of his nephew. I mean to find out which way he’ll lean once he has to take sides, and if we can count on his support.”

  I didn’t bother to ask if by ‘we’ he meant the Duke of Monmouth and his lot or the king. I already knew whom he was referring to. My warning had done nothing to dissuade him, and I silently cursed myself yet again for being a complete and utter idiot. The chorus in my head had long since quieted down having done their part. Just like Hugo, I’d failed to listen when being warned, and now I was paying the price, as would Hugo when the time came.

  “You can honor our agreement and stay with me in the house,” Hugo continued, “or you can thwart my plans and stay in the hayloft with my men. The choice is yours,” he offered smoothly, but of course he knew exactly which I’d go with. Staying in the hayloft with three strange men was much more daunting than spending the night with Hugo. I always believed in choosing the evil I knew versus the one I didn’t, so gave him a nod of acquiescence. I spent the rest of the morning riding in silence despite Hugo’s attempts at conversation, particularly after he had Archie follow me into the woods when I needed a moment of privacy.

  Eventually I fell in with the boy. He seemed to be getting rather tired, but perked up as soon as I drew alongside, his back straightening and his hands picking up the loose reins as he tipped his hat to me deferentially.

  “Good day, Mistress Ashley,” the boy said. He had dark curly hair and soft brown eyes, huge in the pale face that was still round-cheeked and snub-nosed with babyhood. Two of his front teeth were missing, the permanent teeth beneath having pushed them out of the way. I found his smile to be very endearing.

  “Good day. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I said, curious about the child.

  “I’m Jem, his lordship’s page,” he informed me proudly.

  “Do you live at the manor, Jem?”

  “I do; I sleep in the kitchens. It’s nice and warm there, and Cook always gives me buns fresh out of the oven when I wake.”

  “And where are your parents? Does your mother work at the house?”

  “Oh no, madam. My mam passed near a year ago, and my da abandoned us afore I was even born. I’m a bastard,” the boy announced cheerfully.

  “And what do you do for his lordship?” I asked, feeling a strong kinship to this boy who’d suffered the same fate as me, only much worse. At least I had a home, a bed, and a future, unlike this orphan who slept on a bench in the kitchens and had very little besides servitude to look forward to once he achieved manhood.

  “Oh, this and that,” the boy said mysteriously. “I’m an in-n-teg-ral part of the household.” The boy tripped over the word, but finally got it right and beamed at me in a way that made my heart squeeze. He was hardly more than a child.

  “How old are you, Jem?”

  “Just turned eight,” Jem answered, his narrow chest swelling with pride. “His lordship gave me this sword for my birthday. It’s only polished wood, but it’s good for practicing. He promised me a real sword once I’m a competent swordsman. I practice every day, mostly with Archie.”

  “And do you like being in his lordship’s employ?” I asked, my voice full of suspicion. “Does he pay you?”

  “Not in coin. He gives me food, a roof over my head, and the clothes on my back. That’s more than enough, if you ask me. He’s a right good master, he is.” The poor child seemed so grateful that it nearly made me cry. What kind of a life was this for a little boy?

  “Well, I’m happy to have made your acquaintance, Jem,” I said. “I hope we get to speak again.”

  “I’ve nae doubt we will, madam,” Jem replied, giving me a cheeky smile. He really was cute, which for some reason made me even angrier. I dug my heels into the sides of my mare and urged her to go a little faster until I arrived at the head of the procession.

  “Do you really need an eight-year-old page?” I demanded of Hugo angrily as he slowed down and waited for me to draw alongside him. Hugo’s eyebrows momentarily disappeared beneath the brim of his hat. He seemed affronted by the question, but quickly rearranged his features into a bland mask, replying to me in a tone of utmost patience and courtesy.

  “No, but I have one all the same.” He infuriated me with his arrogance, which I think was the objective.

  “That child should be in school,” I retorted, instantly realizing my mistake. There were no schools, especially for children like Jem. He was probably lucky to have a place at all.

  “School?” Hugo asked, looking scandalized. “What type of school?”

 
“Never mind,” I mumbled, feeling foolish in the extreme. “Why do you have him? He’s just a little boy.”

  “Yes, he is, and he needs my protection. He’s an orphan with no kin to look after him. I took him in for his own good.” Hugo sounded defensive, but I wasn’t ready to give up being angry with him. I wasn’t angry just about Jem, but at the moment, that was the one thing I could berate him for.

  “Why?” I demanded.

  “Because I held his mother in rather a high regard,” Hugo replied with a small smile, which suggested a multitude of sins.

  “Is he…?” I spat out at him, but he just shook his head.

  “Is he my spawn, you mean?” he asked. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement, and his mouth twitched with the effort not to smile. He was laughing at me and my indignation, and I was overcome with a desire to kick him in the shins, unfortunately with both of us being mounted that was rather out of the question.

  “Well, is he?” I persisted, unsure of whether I really wanted to know the answer to that. Hugo wouldn’t be the first master to impregnate a servant or a girl from the village. I supposed the fact that he was at least taking some responsibility for the child was a credit to him, but it didn’t absolve him altogether.

  “No, Mistress Ashley, he isn’t. He’s just a child who needed a home. And to answer your next question, if I just took him in without offering him employment, every bastard in the parish would be left on my doorstep by its desperate mother in the hope that I would look after it. Besides, Jem needs to feel useful and important, and being a page gives him a sense of purpose and accomplishment, so everybody wins.”

  “Is that why he’s coming with us, to give him a sense of accomplishment?” I asked, amazed that Hugo would just let him tag along. Judging by the amount of weaponry, he clearly thought there might be some danger and didn’t think twice about endangering the child.

  “Jem has his uses,” Hugo explained. “People tend to speak freely in front of a child; as a matter of fact, they often forget he’s even there. He picks up all sorts of useful information which he happily passes on to me.”