Wonderland (Wonderland Series: Book 2)

by Irina Shapiro

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “No, of course not, but several people in the village had just before his arrest, and they could have sworn he was my brother. What is Hugo planning?” Jane asked, gazing somewhere just over my right shoulder. She seemed tense, but then again, I would never describe Jane as being relaxed or easygoing.

  “Brad has a relative who is a man of law and will do his best to help Max through the trial. Other than that, there’s not much to be done I’m afraid.”

  “No, there isn’t, is there?” Jane mused, suddenly brightening. She didn’t seem overly concerned with Max’s situation. He was nothing to her.

  “And how are you feeling, my dear? You look well.”

  “I’m all right. A little queasy at times still,” I confessed. “And I have trouble sleeping.”

  “I know just the thing for sleeplessness,” Jane said, perking up. “There’s an excellent apothecary in Cheapside. I’ve often ordered potions from him while Ernest was ill. He’ll have some dried chamomile, and perhaps some mint to settle your stomach. It’s not at all far from here. Shouldn’t take us more than a half-hour. I actually need some comfrey and willow bark. I keep it on hand in case Clarence gets a fever,” Jane explained. “He’s so often ill. An infusion of willow bark lowers fevers dramatically. Shall we go?”

  “All right,” I readily agreed. “Chamomile would be wonderful. I can brew it into some tea.”

  “Tea?” Jane asked, confused. “You mean a tisane? Yes, that’s just the thing,” Jane agreed, reaching for her hat. “I had trouble sleeping while I was pregnant too. I could hardly keep my eyes open in the afternoon and then at night I lay wide awake, my mind refusing to settle.”

  Jane opened a drawer and extracted a heavy purse of coin which she slid into a pocket inside her cloak.

  “Is it that expensive to buy some herbs,” I asked, worrying that I didn’t have enough money.

  “That’s all the money I brought with me. I don’t like leaving it behind,” Jane whispered, cutting her eyes at the door where the elderly servant had just passed. I doubted that Bradford would keep servants who stole from him, but didn’t say anything and followed Jane out into the autumn morning. I was actually surprised by her desire to take a walk. Jane wasn’t one for outdoors and even avoided going into the village back in Surrey. Perhaps she’d missed London since she hadn’t been in a very long time. Jane was still in mourning for her husband, as her prim, black gown suggested. She looked like a raven with her dark hair, dark dress, and black cloak lined in dove gray, but there was a rosy blush on her cheeks, something I hadn’t seen before.

  The day outside was lovely, and I enjoyed walking arm in arm with Jane, breathing in the crisp September air. The tang of the river wasn’t as strong here, making way for more pleasant smells like those of baking bread emanating from the open window of someone’s kitchen. I looked around with interest, trying to reconcile the London of my memory with the neighborhood I found myself in. I was sure I’d walked down this very street not so long ago, but in my time, it boasted several cafes, restaurants, and trendy shops lining the streets. There was no trace of the houses that we passed save one or two historic buildings.

  I smiled at Jane, thinking how nice it was to be surrounded by people who cared about Hugo and myself once more, despite the danger of being in London. She smiled back and squeezed my hand in a gesture of understanding and support. We left the residential street behind and turned into Cheapside, which was a major commercial thoroughfare. The street was much wider, with countless shops displaying their wares inside and out. Wagons and carriages rattled past, and shoppers weaved between the vehicles to get from one side of the street to the other in search of a better price or a superior product. Jane appeared to be overwhelmed by all the activity and steered me into a narrow lane, which was much quieter. Several shops were already open for business, but a few were still shuttered, their windows resembling closed eyes.

  Jane glanced around nervously, as if expecting to be set upon by thieves at any moment despite the fact that no one was within a few feet of us. I suppose it was daunting for her to be in a city of this size, after spending most of her time in the country and going no further than the garden and the church at the bottom of the hill. Having been in mourning for nearly a year, Jane was unused to being around people, especially of the lower classes such as the ones who milled all around us now. I found it hard to believe that she’d come here before in search of herbal remedies for Ernest. Jane wasn’t the type of woman to go shopping for anything; she’d just send a maid with written instructions, but perhaps she’d had no choice considering that Ernest suffered from syphilis, and she wanted to keep his condition a secret from the staff.

  “Where’s the apothecary?” I asked, looking around. I didn’t see anything resembling that type of shop. The shops in this street sold mostly leather and metal goods, their wares proudly displayed as several women looked at pots and haggled over the price of a pewter basin with the proprietor. The people on the street were rough-looking and rude, pushing past us unceremoniously as they went about their business. Jane seemed even more nervous than before, her eyes darting up and down the street.

  “Are we lost?” I asked, suddenly feeling nervous myself. Jane’s anxiety was contagious, and I regretted coming. Hugo had told me to come straight back, and now he’d be worried.

  “It’s just up the street, I think,” Jane replied. She looked distracted; her head swiveling to the side as if searching for a familiar landmark. She pulled me ahead, then suddenly stopped as if she’d seen what she’d been looking for. I bent down to take a pebble out of my shoe when I was seized by rough hands; my arms pulled behind my back. Two men shoved me up against a closed carriage.

  “What are you doing? Let me go,” I screamed. I assumed they wanted to rob me and tried to free my hands to give them whatever money I had. One of the men slapped me hard across the face. I was stunned into silence, my ear ringing where it had been hit. The man in front of me didn’t look much like a thief. He was simply dressed, but his clothes were clean, as was the rest of him. He didn’t have the grizzled look of someone who lived by stealing. He wore a sword, and I saw a hilt of a dagger protruding from his belt.

  “I have money,” I mumbled, but the man grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me, silencing me once more.

  “I thought I told ye to shut up,” he hissed as he held me pressed against the carriage. “Ye are under arrest for witchcraft, so say goodbye to yer friend.”

  I looked wildly for Jane, but her back was turned to me as she faced the second assailant who was looking down at her as she fumbled with her cloak. I assumed that he was trying to steal her purse, but Jane was neither screaming nor struggling. She was relatively calm, especially for Jane. The man bowed to her and seemed to thank her, just as I was roughly shoved into the carriage which was dark as a coffin inside. The windows were covered up with squares of leather and the bench was unpadded, as were the walls of the carriage; it was nothing more than a wooden box. I banged on the door, but no one paid any attention to me as the carriage lurched and began to move, picking up speed as it headed to an unknown destination.

  I put my head between my knees to combat the bile that rose in my throat. I was terrified. Who were these men? Where were they taking me? They hadn’t been soldiers, nor did they have a warrant for my arrest. They simply abducted me off the street. My only hope was that Jane would go straight to Hugo, but I suddenly realized that she had no idea where to go. I’d forgotten to give her Hugo’s note asking her to meet by St. Paul’s. I howled with fear as the carriage took a sharp turn and leaned precariously to the side, throwing me against the hard wood. I tried to hold on for dear life, praying all the while.

  Eventually, the carriage stopped and the men dragged me out. The sun momentarily blinded me after the total darkness of the carriage, but I saw a large, squat building with several doors and very few windows as they dragged me through the gate. It was a part of London I d
idn’t immediately recognize. The interior of the building was dim, several torches mounted on the walls throwing shadows into what appeared to be a dark, vaulted passage. The stench that hung about the place like a miasma felt like an attack on the senses; my eyes watering and my nose stinging as I tried not to breathe too deeply. It was like being taken into a septic tank.

  I heard screams and cries of despair coming from darkened alcoves set into the walls which I recognized to be cells. Several faces peered through the bars, but they were so dirty that I couldn’t even tell if they were male or female, the eyes of the inmates blank, showing neither interest nor any spark of life. They simply stared blindly, following the sound of my terrified screams.

  “Please, I need to speak to someone in charge. This is a terrible mistake,” I wailed, but they completely ignored me as they dragged me along. My pleas echoed off the stone walls, bouncing right back to me and making me shake with desperation.

  The men pushed me into a filthy cell and locked the door, leaving without a word. Their job was done. I was left alone, standing in a tiny cell with no window or even a bucket to use as a toilet. The straw on the floor was crawling with vermin, and I could hear rats in the corner, even though I couldn’t see them. They were just dark shapes that scurried from side to side, their eyes red pinpricks in the darkness.

  I banged on the wooden door, calling out for what felt like hours, but no one came. Not then and not later. Eventually, I grew tired of standing and slid down the side of the wall to the sticky floor, beating the floor with my fists to scare away the rats. It didn’t really work. I felt them drawing closer and closer with every passing minute. I was so scared I could barely think; my body shaking with shock and cold, and my mind refusing to accept that this really happened to me.

  Where was Jane? They hadn’t taken her. Had she returned to Bradford’s house to get help? My mind was racing in circles, asking questions I had no answers to. The men said I had been accused of witchcraft. By whom? No one knew that I was in London except for Bradford, Jane, and Archie, and how could the men have known that I would be in that particular street with Jane? Had they been watching Bradford’s house and saw us leave? Did they know Hugo was back in London and had he been taken as well?

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there until the cries of the other inmates subsided, and the prison grew quieter as people went to sleep. It must have been night, but I had no way of telling. It was dark inside the prison, and not a glimmer of natural light could be seen anywhere from my cell. I hugged my knees, rested my forehead against them and cried myself hoarse. I cried till there were no tears left.

  My head ached, and my eyes felt raw and swollen, but the storm had brought a modicum of release. I must have fallen asleep, but woke up with a start as a sharp pair of teeth sank into my ankle, and I cried out in pain and terror. I spent the rest of the night pacing the cell, afraid to sit down despite the exhaustion that weighed down my limbs like lead weights.

  Chapter 7

  Hugo stared around the empty room. His gut burned as if someone had lit a roaring fire inside his belly, making him wince with pain. He had a splitting headache, and a tremor shook his left hand until he clapped his right hand over it angrily. They’d been over it a hundred times, but he still couldn’t make sense of what happened on this wretched day. Archie poured Hugo a cup of ale and held it out to him.

  “Have a drink,” he said.

  “I can’t,” Hugo replied in clipped tones. His mouth was dry, but he couldn’t bring himself to take a sip feeling that his throat would just close up. Instead, he sat down on the bed, head in his hands. What Archie told him was beyond comprehension, beyond the realm of possibility, but he trusted Archie implicitly and knew that Archie would lay down his life if he asked it of him.

  “Archie, tell me again,” Hugo commanded.

  “The whole thing?” Archie looked as if he wanted to die. It wasn’t his fault, but he blamed himself nonetheless, believing that there was something he could have done to prevent what had happened. He’d been too far away and unarmed, but he should have done something, should have tried to save his mistress.

  “The whole thing,” Hugo replied, looking up at Archie. “Perhaps we missed something.”

  Archie took a sip of ale and began again, guilt twisting in his belly like a sharp knife. “I followed Mistress Ashley to Nash house, as you instructed me to, and just waited around outside. I saw a man walk down the street. He seemed lost and was walking slowly, looking up at the houses as if searching for the right one. There were several other people in the street, but they were mostly servants going about their business.

  Mistress Ashley was inside for no more than a quarter of an hour, then she left with Mistress Hiddleston. The man I’d seen earlier had turned around and watched them leave, then walked briskly away. I paid him no mind and followed the ladies at a discreet distance, just to make sure they were safe.” At this part, Archie nearly choked on the words, his hand reaching for the cup as he gulped down the remainder of the ale.

  “Go on,” Hugo insisted.

  “They walked arm in arm and appeared to be in good spirits. Mistress Hiddleston seemed to be leading the way. They walked down Cheapside for a bit, then turned the corner. I grew concerned when Mistress Hiddleston turned off into a narrow alley just off Milk Street. She stopped and looked around, as if lost, so I thought of offering my assistance when I saw the carriage stop just next to them. The man I’d seen earlier, loitering outside Master Nash’s house, jumped out of the carriage and went straight for your sister, and a second man who’d been driving the carriage grabbed Mistress Ashley and then hit her across the face when she began to scream. He then pushed her into the carriage and locked the door from the outside.”

  “How were they dressed? Were they armed?” Hugo asked.

  “They wore leather doublets and stout boots. Both were wearing swords, and the one who confronted your sister had a pistol tucked into his belt. I couldn’t see much more than that from where I was, but they were definitely not soldiers.”

  “Now, tell me the part about my sister,” Hugo said quietly. He felt as if he were going to be sick, but he needed to hear it again.

  “Mistress Hiddleston didn’t appear to be startled or frightened. She seemed to know the man who approached her and handed him a purse of coin just as Mistress Ashley was bundled into the carriage. He opened the purse, took one of the coins out and bit on it, before thanking her. He bowed to her respectfully, then jumped onto the bench of the carriage,” Archie recounted again. He’d been shocked to witness the transaction, but he had no time to question Jane. He had to follow the carriage to see where Mistress Ashley was being taken.

  “What did Jane do after they left?” Hugo asked, his voice low and raspy with feeling.

  “She smiled and gazed after the carriage until it turned the corner, then left,” Archie recounted, inwardly cringing at the look on his master’s face. “I don’t believe she’d seen me.”

  Hugo just nodded, as if confirming something to himself. He’d raced over to Brad’s house as soon as Archie came running back with the news of Neve’s abduction. Archie had run after the carriage, but could barely keep up. He’d been too far away to do anything when the carriage stopped in front of Newgate Prison and Neve was dragged inside by the men, who came out again a short time later. Brad knew nothing of Neve’s visit, having been out at the time, but he had confirmed that Jane arrived the day before. The old servant, Billingsley, said that a lady had come by to see Mistress Jane and then they both left. Mistress Jane returned about forty minutes hence, took her belongings, and cleared off. He had no idea where she’d gone or why she left in such a hurry.

  It had grown dark outside as they talked, but neither man made a move to light a candle. Sounds of talking and laughter could be heard from the taproom below, the appetizing smells of food drifting up the narrow stairs and filling the room. They hadn’t eaten, and Archie’s stomach growled in protest. He hadn’t had anything
since breakfast when Hugo had asked him to keep an eye on Mistress Ashley just in case. Archie had sprinted out the door, never imagining what this day would bring.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, your lordship?” Archie asked, but Hugo shook his head.

  “Get some food and rest, Archie. There’s nothing you can do at the present.”

  Archie gave a respectful bow and let himself out of the room, leaving Hugo sitting in the dark. It wasn’t until Archie’s footsteps receded that Hugo allowed himself to cry. He hadn’t cried since the morning he’d held Jem’s inert body in his arms, believing the child to be dead and himself responsible. He thought his heart would break, but that pain had been nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

  Neve was completely beyond his reach. Even were he to reveal himself as Lord Everly, there was nothing he could do to get her out of Newgate. She’d been taken on a charge of witchcraft, a charge that no woman had ever beaten. The only question was whether she would be burned alive, drowned, or hanged. And for some unfathomable reason, his own sister was complicit in the arrest. She’d had her suspicions about Neve, particularly after Hugo’s miraculous disappearance and clever disguise, but he’d never for a moment imagined that Jane might be capable of such a betrayal. Why? Why would she do this thing? Why would she condemn Neve to die? And their child… She knew that Neve was pregnant, carrying a possible heir who would ensure the continued survival of the Everly line.

  Hugo couldn’t begin to understand what drove Jane to do what she’d done, but he’d been noticing changes in her since she came to stay at Everly Manor shortly after Ernest’s death, changes that he’d tried to ignore. She was irritable and quick to anger, suspicious of anyone who came to the house, and reluctant to so much as walk into the village. He’d simply assumed she was grieving and needed time alone, but perhaps there was more to it than that. Jane had complained of headaches and always sat close to the window or the candle, saying she needed extra light to see by, especially when sewing. Were these signs of illness? But even if she were ill, what had that to do with Neve and himself? Why would she go to such lengths to hurt them?