My hands began to shake as the realization of what must have happened hit me. Max had my car keys; he’d found my personal belongings. He must have made the calls and used my account to give the impression that I was still in the present rather than in the seventeenth century. I couldn’t understand how this might benefit him or why he would feel the need to perpetuate this charade, but whatever his reasons were he clearly had something to lose now that I was back. I threw my things back into the car and ran in the direction that Max and Hugo had taken.
Chapter 45
Max tried a few different topics before he finally stumbled on one that Hugo found interesting. The man wasn’t a fisherman or a huntsman, and he seemed reluctant to talk about seventeenth-century politics, given that he was shoulder deep in treason and about to be executed in his own time, but he was curious about the modern-day running of the estate. Max prattled on about farm equipment while his brain whirred like a crazed bumblebee. This was his one chance to get rid of Hugo. Once Neve took him to London he would be in a vast, populated place where committing a crime of this magnitude would be nearly impossible without detection. With all the nosey passersby and CCTV cameras on every bloody corner, someone was bound to see something, and with Max’s luck, even get images that would be played on every television station and get a gazillion hits on YouTube; solidifying his guilt and ruining his brilliant future. Max and Hugo were alone in the woods, walking toward the stream, so this had to be it. No one could say that it wasn’t premeditated, but Max was utterly unprepared. He meant to get a gun from the lodge, but never got the chance, so he’d have to improvise.
“Did you have the grist mill in your time?” Max asked, feigning interest. “I’m not certain when it was built, but it’s actually still there – disused, of course. It hasn’t been utilized since the Industrial Revolution. Oh, I do beg your pardon, you wouldn’t have heard about that. I’m sure that Neve told you that everything these days is run on electricity and monitored by computers.” Max allowed himself a moment of enjoyment as Hugo tried to process what he was saying, and trying not to appear to be an absolute dunce, but Hugo just nodded in understanding, making Max even angrier than he already was.
“Yes, Neve did explain that to me. I must confess that I don’t quite understand the workings of it, but it sounds most efficient.”
Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! Max thought as he pointed toward the old mill in the distance. The building was all but rotted away; the old wheel covered in slime and weeds after centuries of neglect. The whole thing was a grotesque reminder that the past belonged in the past, like the specimen that was picking his way along the slippery path next to Max, his face alight with curiosity.
Hugo turned to ask a question, and Max was suddenly struck by the resemblance. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing a slightly more weathered version of oneself. Hugo was about the same age, possibly even a few years younger, but decades of living in a place devoid of proper nutrition, medical care, and creature comforts was bound to age a man. Of course, Hugo had never seen the inside of a tanning salon, Max thought savagely, and a golden tan could be so becoming and appealing to the ladies.
“It didn’t work on Neve,” his inner voice commented, but he ignored it and continued walking, a sinister thought forming in his mind. If Hugo resembled him so greatly, he could easily take his place. Hugo could kill him and claim to be Lord Everly, which he technically was, in his stead. It would take him a bit of time to acclimate to this century, and of course, he could never fool his mother, but it could be done with Neve’s help.
Max trained his eyes on the path, searching for what he needed. It came along a few minutes later, within a few feet of the mill. The stone was the size of Max’s fist, a jagged edge sharp and pointy sticking up at one end, perfect for bludgeoning someone’s unsuspecting skull. If the body washed under the wheel of the mill, it would rot in peace without anyone ever suspecting of the secret it held. Even better than floating downstream. No one came this way anymore, so the body would never be discovered.
Max dipped down and picked up the rock without missing a step and held his hand behind his back. “Dear God,” he said in his head, “please forgive what I’m about to do and guide my hand so that I get it right the first time. This man is an obvious threat to me, so this is self-defense,” he added, just in case God needed to hear his reasons.
Max took a deep breath and raised his hand behind an unsuspecting Hugo.
Chapter 46
I ran as fast as I could, my heart hammering against my ribs and my mind spinning out of control with fear for Hugo. I wasn’t sure what Max intended, but at this point, I strongly suspected it wasn’t a scenic tour of the grounds. How could I have been so wrong about him? So taken in by his phony charm? I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, but after a few quick sucks of air continued to run. Max and Hugo had at least a twenty-minute lead, so I had no idea how far they’d gone. I heard Max saying something about the stream earlier, so I ran toward the barely audible rush of water, praying all the while that I was completely insane and Max was just enjoying a nature walk.
As I burst through the gap in the trees, I saw the hulking black outline of what was left of the mill. The giant wheel was lazily turning, trapped in eternal motion caused by the water that flowed beneath it. The bank of the stream was muddy, and I slipped and landed hard on my butt, avoiding falling into the water by mere inches. My hand was scraped, and my jeans were muddy and wet, but I sprang back up and continued running toward the mill in the hope that Max had taken Hugo there. They could have gone a different way, but I had followed the trail, and thought it would have made sense for the men to walk the path rather than crash through the woods, pushing branches and brambles out of their way.
I finally spotted them ahead of me. The path was too narrow for two people, so Max solicitously walked behind Hugo, playing the gracious host. Hugo was looking around with interest, no doubt comparing the spot with his own memory of it. He must have gone hunting in these woods more times than he could remember, and despite telling Max that he didn’t enjoy either hunting or fishing, he had fished this stream, most recently with Clarence, only about a week ago. Clarence had been thrilled to escape from the classroom, and caught a few middling fishes which he presented with flourish to the Cook. She must have tossed them to the cats as soon as Clarence turned his back, but she made all the appropriate noises of astonishment and appreciation, making Clarence blush pink with pleasure.
I couldn’t hear what Max was saying, if he were saying anything at all, but I suddenly noticed the large stone he held in his right hand behind his back. My heart plummeted to the ground, and my throat seemed to close up just when I needed more than anything to scream and warn Hugo that he was in danger, but the sound that came out was nothing more than a whimper, a tiny scream that wouldn’t carry more than a foot or two — more of a squeak than a battle cry of warning.
Tears of fear and frustration ran down my face as I tried to fill my lungs with air and let out a roar, but I felt as if I were choking, my throat constricted and my vision blurred. I angrily wiped the tears away and tried screaming again, but nothing came out, save a hoarse croak. Oh Hugo, I thought, please hear me, but Hugo just walked on, oblivious to my anguish and Max’s evil intentions. What in the world did he have against Hugo? What could Hugo do to alter Max’s life? If Hugo went back, he’d be executed, and everything would go on just as it had already happened. And if Hugo remained in this century, he’d be no threat to Max whatsoever. Max was the current Lord Everly, the man who had it all. What could he possibly fear from a displaced seventeenth-century man who at this moment didn’t have a farthing to his name or anything other than the clothes on his back, which didn’t even belong to him?
A desperate sob tore from my chest as I saw Max raise his hand and bring the rock atop Hugo’s head. This couldn’t be happening. I tried to save Hugo, and instead I led him to his death. Was it destiny that Hugo should die in May of what was in his
time 1685? Was it not possible to cheat fate? Was this the day of his death in his actual life? It couldn’t be since he’d likely just arrive at the Tower of London, but perhaps he tried to fight his captors and died in the attempt.
All these thoughts raced through my head in the mere seconds it took for the rock to come down, but I shut down my brain and forced myself to look up. I needed to see Max committing this crime so that I could be a witness to what happened. He wasn’t going to get away with it. The tableau seemed to play out before my eyes in slow motion. Max brought down his hand with all his strength, but the rock never made contact with Hugo’s skull. Hugo executed a graceful dip, making Max lose his balance and come tumbling down onto the bank of the creek face first. Hugo kicked Max’s wrist savagely, forcing him to release his hold on the rock, which fell into the water with an audible splash. I watched as Max flipped over, his face contorted with rage as he tried to grab Hugo’s legs and bring him down, but Hugo danced out of the way and grabbed a fallen branch. Before I knew it, he was sitting on Max’s chest, the branch pressed against Max’s throat in a way that made him turn first pale with fear, then puce with the lack of oxygen. I knew I should do something to stop Hugo, but I didn’t. I knew deep down that Hugo wasn’t a murderer; he wanted to scare Max, and it was working admirably.
Max was croaking something, his hands trying to push at the branch and his legs flailing helplessly as his eyes pleaded with Hugo for mercy. All Hugo had to do was push down harder and Max would suffocate. I tore my gaze away from Max and looked at Hugo. I couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders were tense, and his thighs straddled Max in a way that prevented him from moving. Hugo suddenly turned around as if sensing my presence.
“Come join us, Neve,” he called. I was surprised by how calm he sounded, considering that he’d just escaped death by stoning. I stumbled toward him, blinded by panic and fear. What was he planning to do?
“Hugo…” I breathed, but I had no idea what to say.
“Should I do it?” Hugo asked dispassionately. “According to you, I don’t exist in this time, so no one would ever think to accuse me of Lord Everly’s murder. I am invisible, am I not?” Hugo asked me. He was still keeping the pressure on the branch, but appeared as if reasoning this out was his only concern.
“Hugo, please, don’t do it,” I pleaded. “I saw what he did, and he deserves to be punished, but not by your hand.”
I was surprised to see a brilliant smile light up Hugo’s face. “But think about it,” he called out to me, “I could simply take Lord Everly’s place. The resemblance is uncanny, you said so yourself. Of course, people would be put off by my mannerisms and lack of certain personal knowledge, but they would try to rationalize it away, never even imagining that the real Lord Everly is tied beneath the old grist mill, sleeping peacefully for all eternity.”
My mouth dropped open in shock, but Hugo winked at me before turning back to Max. He was just tormenting Max for what he’d done, no doubt having figured out that he’d just outlined the fate Max had in store for him. It was quite clever actually because Max went from beet-red to pea-green, his eyes bulging with shock and fear. Hugo wasn’t as thick as he’d taken him to be, his mind working as fast, if not faster than Max’s. He was enjoying this cat-and-mouse game, making Max pay for his treachery.
“What do you think, Max?” Hugo asked. “Is that what you had planned? No one would look for a man who doesn’t exist, would they? No one would care, except Neve, who would be written off as being mad. She’d disappeared for weeks, and no one knew where she’d gone. People would think she had some sort of mental collapse, wouldn’t they?”
Max was croaking something, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
“Did you say something?” Hugo asked politely and shifted the branch a little to allow Max to draw a deep breath and speak.
“Hugo, please,” he pleaded. “I don’t know what came over me. It was a moment of madness. Please, I beg you, don’t kill me. You are not a murderer.”
“How do you know? I didn’t think you were a murderer either, but here we are.” I could tell by the twinkle in his eye that Hugo was having fun at Max’s expense, but I was horrified. What were we to do now?
I was surprised when Hugo sprang to his feet and kicked Max into the creek. Max would be wet and muddy, but very much alive. I hoped he wouldn’t try to harm Hugo again, but Max showed no inclination to get out of the stream. His head bobbed above the water as he watched Hugo warily.
“What now?” Max asked, clearly still scared.
“Now we leave,” Hugo replied over his shoulder.
Chapter 47
Hugo sat perfectly still as I put the key in the ignition and started the car. I knew that he was nervous, but didn’t want to make things worse for him by telling him that his fears were unfounded. I’m sure that if I were about to go up in a spaceship, I’d be nervous as well, and after traveling all his life at less than 30 mph, this was pretty much the equivalent. I let the car roll out of the stable and down the dirt road at a very slow speed, allowing Hugo to get comfortable with the motion. He looked at the dashboard with interest, asking me about the various displays and buttons, probably in order to distract himself. I answered calmly, while gradually picking up speed.
By the time we got on the motorway, Hugo had a slightly greenish hue to his face, but he stared ahead resolutely, fixating on one spot in order not to be overwhelmed by the cars zooming past us. I was dawdling in the slow lane, but eventually I got tired and switched lanes, the car now traveling at just over the speed limit. It was a beautiful spring day, so I opened the windows and a fresh breeze caressed our faces as the sun played peek-a-boo with the trees on the side of the road. The air smelled of grass and pine with overtones of petrol and hot rubber.
I noticed that Hugo was no longer staring ahead, but was looking at the passing cars; his head cocked to the side as he noted the different models and shapes. He was breathing deeply and evenly, which led me to believe that it was safe to talk to him. “So, what do you think of your first car ride?” I asked with a smile, feeling as if I were talking to a toddler.
“I think it’s FUN,” Hugo replied promptly, making me laugh. “Now tell me about all the different vehicles that we’re passing. What’s that one, for instance?”
We spent the next few minutes discussing the various types of cars on the road before I tried to describe to him what London was going to be like. A sleepy English village, even one that’s four centuries ahead, was nothing like the city he was about to encounter. London in the seventeenth century was dirty, overcrowded, and full of horses and carts jostling for space on the narrow, muck-strewn roads bracketed by wooden houses with overhanging upper floors, but it was something Hugo was used to. Arriving in a city of millions with heavy traffic, double-decker buses, skyscrapers, and shops and restaurants lining every commercial avenue, and boasting everything from televisions to kebabs was bound to be a trifle overwhelming.
“Is Evan in London?” Hugo suddenly asked, taking me completely by surprise. I should have known he wouldn’t just let it go, and now that we were relatively safe and almost at home he needed to know what he was up against emotionally, not just physically.
“Yes, he is, but I won’t be seeing him,” I replied, knowing that this wasn’t the end of it.
“What is his relationship to you? Max implied that he was rather important.”
“He was, for a time, but things are long finished between us.” I took Hugo’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hugo, he’s no threat to you.”
Hugo nodded, but wasn’t quite ready to move on from the topic. “What was your relationship with him?” He didn’t pull away his hand, but he didn’t return my squeeze of affection either. His hand just rested in mine as noncommittal as his facial expression.
“We lived together for nearly four years. Does it bother you that I had lived with another man?”
Hugo shrugged and gave me a rueful smile. “I married a blushin
g maiden and she left me without so much as a backward glance. Innocence doesn’t guarantee loyalty or everlasting love. I never assumed that your life was a blank page; besides, given my current situation your previous cohabitation with another man is the least of my worries. But why did he never marry you?” Hugo asked, incredulous. “What kind of man would live with a woman for four years and not offer her his name or financial support? Did he lie to you? Make promises?”
“No, he hadn’t. Hugo, marriage is somewhat different in the twenty-first century. People still marry, of course, but for different reasons. Women are independent and self-sufficient, so they no longer need the protection or support of a man. They marry for love, or out of loneliness, but not out of fear or duty. An unmarried woman is not looked down upon or considered to be a withered old spinster. Single women have lovers and lead a full life. Sometimes they even have children out of wedlock, and no one thinks of them as bastards. They have the same rights as anyone else. There’s no stigma or shame. As a matter of fact, some women choose to have a child on their own.”
“Why?” Hugo asked, utterly shocked.
“There are many reasons. Some women don’t want to marry the father; others are lesbians and want to raise the child with their partner, and some would like to marry, but are never asked, so they keep the child in order to have something of a family rather than being alone.”
“Did you have a child?” Hugo asked suddenly, as if reading my mind. I was about to tell him about the miscarriage, but something stopped me. He’d had enough shocks for two days, and I had a right to keep something of my life private. The miscarriage did not affect him in any way, so there was no reason for him to know, besides, speaking of it was painful, and I had no wish to rake that all up again.
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