A Game of Shadows (20 page)

The room was lost in darkness, only the distant light of a crescent moon silvering the peaceful faces of the children.  Their even breathing soothed Louisa’s heart as she sat between Evie’s bed and Robbie’s cot, reluctant to leave.  They’d been asleep for some time now, their demand for another story willingly granted as Louisa recounted some of the stories of her childhood, eliminating anything that might be an anachronism, not that they would know.  Most of the fairy tales of Louisa’s time hadn’t even been written yet, since Hans Christian Andersen and the Grimm brothers wouldn’t be born for approximately another two hundred years. 

A church clock struck the hour, startling Louisa out of her reverie.  She knew she should go down and join Kit in their bedroom, but she just couldn’t bring herself to go just yet.  He’d sworn to her that there was no other woman and Alec and Valerie seemed to believe him, but in her heart
, Louisa knew that something was terribly wrong.  Kit was the same kind and loving man he’d always been, but despite the façade of calm and good humor, he hadn’t been himself for months.  Louisa finally admitted to herself that she didn’t think he was keeping a mistress; no love affair could account for the haunted look in Kit’s eyes, or the tension radiating from him whenever Louisa was around. It had to be something else, something serious, but she had no idea how to find out the truth.  Kit just smiled and reassured her that everything was well, and there was no need to worry.  Louisa wasn’t so sure.

She
’d found him in the library earlier, a glass of port in hand; his eyes closed and face as pale as a marble statue.  He hadn’t heard her come in, or he would have rearranged his features to mask the look of agony on his face.  Louisa walked quietly into the room, putting her hand on Kit’s shoulder.  She hadn’t meant to startle him, but he grabbed her wrist, nearly breaking it as he exploded out of the chair, a look of pure hatred and revulsion on his face.  It was only when Louisa cried out in pain that he regained awareness, begging her forgiveness and pulling her into a hug that nearly crushed her ribs.  Kit’s heart was hammering against her breasts, his breath coming fast and hard as he tried to calm down, but no amount of questions would force him to tell her what had him so agitated.  He just kissed her and held her, swearing that he would love her and protect her until the end of his days. 

Louisa forced herself to get up and walk out of the peaceful sanctuary of her children’s bedroom.  It was time to go down and face her enigmatic husband.  She knew that he would want to make love to her tonight, and she knew it would be frenzied and all-consuming, but the thought didn’t arouse her as it might have before.  It just scared her further.

Valerie took a last bite of duck and pushed her plate away, thoroughly satisfied.  The duck had been prepared with some kind of blackcurrant sauce and served with roasted potatoes, their skin browned to a crisp, the potato inside soft and flavorful.  She hadn’t had food this good since she left the future.  One thing hadn’t changed
—
the French still knew how to cook.  They’d been in France for a week now, but still hadn’t reached their destination.  The closest port to Loudun would have been St. Nazaire, but Alec couldn’t find a ship heading that way on such short notice.  Instead, they had to take a ship to Calais, and then continue over land.  Had Alec gone alone, he would have just hired a horse from the nearest livery, but with Valerie in tow, they needed a carriage, which thankfully came with a coachman.  The man was only too willing to take them where they needed to go, provided he got well paid for his trouble.  Loudun was nowhere near Calais.

Valerie had to admit that despite the grim nature of their errand, she was
enjoying the trip.  She’d never been to France in her twenty-first century life, so this was a first, and after years of living in Virginia, a breath of fresh air.  She spent most of her time gazing out the window, enjoying the distinctly different flavor of the country.  She was charmed by the beautiful chateaus that could be seen perched on hillsides, overlooking their verdant fiefdoms.  Acres of vines heavy with clusters of grapes gave way to fields ripe with wheat and barley.  Peasants dotted the countryside, working in the fields and tending to the stock.  One field they passed had already been harvested, golden haystacks standing like runes beneath the cloudless blue sky.  It reminded Valerie of Monet’s “Haystacks” and she told Alec about it.

“Someone painted hay? How eccentric,” he remarked, gazing out over the bucolic paradise they traveled through.  Valerie wished he was enjoying their trip more, but he was preoccupied with his thoughts and what they would find at the convent.  Secretly, Valerie didn’t think they’d find anything, but she kept that
opinion to herself.  Even if they came away from this with absolutely no new information regarding Rose’s life and death, Alec would still get some kind of closure, which is what this whole thing was about anyway.  She doubted that after more than twenty years, anyone would even remember anything pertinent.  They would know the basic facts, but that would most likely be it. 

“I think we should reach Loudun by midday tomorrow.  Thank God the weather has been wonderful
, or it might have taken longer.  I must admit that now we’re almost here, I feel a little apprehensive.”  Alec looked at Valerie, needing her understanding.

“It’s absolutely normal that you would.  You are afraid to find nothing, but you are even more afraid to find something.  Isn’t that right?”
she asked, wishing she could say something to comfort him.

Alec just nodded, glad to see that she could understand his reservations.  “I’m not sure what I hope to find.  I suppose I just want to be able to lay her to rest in my mind.”

Valerie just took his hand, giving silent support.  She hadn’t brought it up to him, but it was likely that Rose wasn’t buried in a cemetery.  Suicides were buried at crossroads and not in hallowed ground.  As a Catholic, Alec knew that, but he probably chose not to dwell on it until he had to, since it would cause him great pain.

Valerie drew his hand to her mouth, kissing it tenderly.  She hoped that whatever they found tomorrow wouldn’t break his heart.
At least he would have Genevieve to return to.  Alec asked her if she’d like to accompany them, but she opted to stay in London and keep Louisa company.  Valerie was worried about leaving Louisa behind, but with her imminent engagement to Theo, Alec thought it best.  He hoped they would use the time to get to know each other better before rushing to the altar.  Theo seemed like a sensible young man, but Louisa had turned his head and was now in a position to manipulate him and toy with his feelings. 

Valerie hoped she
wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship.  She hated the thought of leaving their daughter in England, but the rational part of her brain had to admit that it was the best place for her.  Louisa’s prospects in Virginia were limited, and she was too hungry for life and fulfillment to enjoy spending the rest of her days in a small and puritan community such as Jamestown.  Louisa would make the perfect courtier, enjoying the intrigue and politics as an actor enjoys stepping on stage and taking on the role of someone else.

Valerie sighed as she looked out the window.  Strange how different two children in the same family could be.  Finn and Louisa shared a certain physical resemblance, but their natures were as different as night and day.  Despite being Finlay’s son, Finn was more like Alec than Valerie could have imagined, but Louisa was like neither of her parents.  She was vain and selfish, always ready to sacrifice someone else’s feelings for her own benefit.  She would trample anyone who stood in her path and not look back.  Valerie never shared these thoughts with Alec for fear of hurting him, but she was secretly very disappointed in the daughter
they’d raised.  She prayed that Louisa wouldn’t hurt Theo.  Despite being older and more sophisticated, Theo seemed much more innocent than their daughter.

Valerie wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but Loudun was no different from the towns they passed on their way from Calais.  The narrow winding streets were flanked by buildings made of gray stone, fighting for space closer to the center of town.  Loudon Castle could be seen in the distance, perched on a hill above the town like a stern overlord watching over his domain, and a Gothic church occupied the place of importance in the square, its spire the tallest point of the town, reminding its citizens that God was above all.  If Valerie hadn’t known what year they were in, she might have thought that she was in medieval France since nothing much had changed since then other than some of the fashions.  The common people lived much like they did in the Middle Ages, subservient to their nobility and God. 

They happened to arrive in
Loudon on market day, so the streets closer to the town square were congested with traffic, wagons and people making the streets almost impassable. 

“Why don’t we get out and walk?” Valerie suggested.  “
We can meet Andre by the inn.”  Alec just nodded, his mood grimmer by the minute.

Despite Alec’s stormy mood,
Valerie enjoyed seeing the market.  The square was choked with stalls boasting everything from fresh produce, to bolts of fabric and trinkets made of silver and bronze.  Vendors called out their wares, trying to lure the customers with false promises and witty slogans.  It was the modern form of advertising, and it seemed to work very well.  Young girls drooled over colorful ribbons, while matrons argued over the price of fish and asked to sample the cheeses proudly displayed on a wooden counter.  The smell of freshly-baked bread and rolls filled the square, making Valerie’s mouth water.  She pulled Alec over to a stall selling pastries, the display a feast for the senses, especially for someone who hadn’t eaten in a while.  Alec pulled out a coin, handing it to the vendor.  “Whatever the lady wants,” he said, smiling at Valerie’s consternation as she tried to decide between a fruit tart with custard cream, and a cream puff sprinkled with powdered sugar.  Valerie finally settled on the tart and turned to Alec.  “Don’t you want anything?”

“No.  I don’t have much of an appetite right now, but you go ahead.  It looks wonderful.”  He took her by the elbow, maneuvering her through the crowd until they came out on the other side of the square and across from the inn.  Their coach was already there, the horses being watered and fed
; Andre enjoying a tankard of ale in the taproom. 

“I took the liberty of sending the trunk up to your room,” he announced.  “Would you care to rest or will we be going to the convent soon?”  The poor man looked tired, having been driving them for days with stops only for the night.

“Why don’t you rest, Andre, and we’ll walk to the convent when we’re ready,” suggested Alec.  “It’s not far from the town and we could use the exercise after spending so many days in the carriage.”  Andre seemed very happy with this suggestion, ready to spend some quality time drinking and dicing with some locals seated at a table in the corner and inviting him to come and join them in their game. 

Alec exchanged a few words with the innkeeper and led
Valerie to their room.  It was just like all the other rooms they’d stayed in: small, clean, and very French.  Valerie stretched out on the bed, trying to ease the pain in her back from so many hours of sitting.  It felt nice to lie down, if only for a few minutes.  Alec was anxious to get going, and she was eager to get the interview over with.  She wished she had better knowledge of French, but she only knew some basic phrases, which were enough to get her a meal and find the way to the privy.  Alec, however, was fluent, which was a boon since very few people spoke English. 

Valerie reluctantly got up and went to wash her hands
and face.   She wished she could just stay at the inn and rest for a while, since she wouldn’t understand a word of what was said anyway, but Alec needed her support, so she would go.  He was pacing the room like a caged tiger; his arms folded defensively, his lips stretched into a thin line.  Valerie genuinely liked Genevieve and wanted to help her, but it would have been better for all involved if she had never shown up on their doorstep.  Alec’s quest could bring him nothing but pain, no matter what he found out, and he’d had enough to deal with in the past few years.  He rarely spoke of Finn, but Valerie knew how deeply he missed him and longed to have his son back, especially since they finally grew to appreciate each other as a father and son should.  Alec had always hoped that Finn would inherit the plantation and the ships, but ever since Finn left, Alec lost interest in running the estate, gladly passing the reins to Charles.  If Louisa remained in England, it would be Charlie’s Harry, not Finn, who inherited the estate when the time came.

“Ready?” Alec asked, eager to get going.  Valerie dried her hands and adjusted her hat before following Alec out the door.  They might as well get it over with.

September 1777

New York

Abbie woke up with a start, feeling disoriented and confused.  She looked around the cell, suddenly remembering that this was her last night on Earth.  She’d fought valiantly trying to stay awake, but she must have fallen asleep, overwhelmed by stress and fatigue.  Abbie walked to the little window and looked outside.  A giant moon hung just above the rooftops, casting a silvery glow upon everything in sight.  It was round and bright, surrounded by a halo of light that almost eclipsed the meager light of the countless stars twinkling in the cloudless sky.  A fresh breeze stirred the trees, bringing with it a smell of the river.  Abbie inhaled deeply, her legs shaking as she tried to walk around the cell.  The sun would come up in a few hours, and she would be taken down for execution to the gallows at City Hall Park.  They would carry out the sentence next to the camp for American prisoners, thinking it a fitting place for her to die. 

Abbie wrapped her arms around herself,
begging God for mercy.  If she were to die, she hoped to at least do it with some dignity and not like a sniveling little girl.  She thought she could manage that until she thought of the baby and Finn, then the tears came again.  She’d known the risks when she volunteered to come with Finn to New York, but deep down, she never understood that she might die.  It all seemed so theoretical.  What possible danger would she be in working in a boarding house?  She’d been so naïve, and oh, so careless.  She wiped the tears, putting a hand on her belly.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.  “I would have loved to know you, as would your father.  At least he’ll never know of your
existence, which will spare him pain.  We’ll die together, you and I, together in life and death.” 

Abbie sank back onto the bench, her legs no longer willing to hold her up.  She could see a strip of
gray just beginning to appear over the horizon.  The dawn was near, and so was her end.  She looked at the plate in the corner.  General Campbell had offered her a last meal, but she couldn’t eat it.  Her throat just closed up at the sight of the meat and potato, making her sick.  The chunk of meat lay cold and fatty next to the shriveled-up potato, their smell filling the cell.  Abbie didn’t want the food, but the ale wouldn’t come amiss.  Maybe it would dull her senses a little, if only for a short while.

Abbie didn’t resist as two soldiers came to get her.  It was fully
light now; the beautiful moon of last night just a memory; her last one.  They walked her through the gates and handed her up into a cart which would take her on her last journey.  Abbie looked around, trying to focus on buildings and taverns they passed, unable to accept what was about to happen.  She moved her hands, trying to ease the pain of the rope cutting into her wrists.  The hemp was chafing the skin, making it bleed in some places.  It would take days to heal.  Suddenly, Abbie realized that it didn’t matter.  Her wrists would never have time to heal since she would be dead very soon, the hemp of a different rope choking her until she suffocated. 

She lowered her head so that the soldiers wouldn’t see her tears. 
She’d have given anything to have a last glimpse of Finn, or to have been able to say goodbye to her parents.  Would Finn know what happened to her?  Would she at least have a proper grave or be thrown into a mass grave with the other prisoners who died of neglect and disease?  Abbie wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.  She’d never have done that before, but the cleanliness of her dress no longer made any difference.  She pulled up her legs and laid her head on her knees, closing her eyes against the brilliant sunshine of the September morning.

The cart continued its progress down the street, the two soldiers making casual conversation to pass the time
; one was driving the cart, the other seated across from Abbie, his musket across his thighs.  He barely glanced at her as he recounted a story with considerable relish about a brawl in a tavern a few nights ago to the great amusement of the driver.  It seemed that someone they both disliked got the stuffing beaten out of him and they rejoiced in their enemy’s comeuppance.  The soldiers were sniggering and making plans to visit the tavern next time they had leave.  Abbie wished she could put her hands over her ears to tune them out, but her hands were bound and she was forced to listen to their laughter.  At least they weren’t laughing at her; she couldn’t have borne that
—
or their pity.  She supposed it was best that they just completely ignored her and treated her as if she were already dead.  She supposed to them she was. 

Abbie hardly noticed as two
officers drew up alongside the cart, cantering on either side.  The street was almost deserted at that time of the morning, but it wasn’t uncommon to see British soldiers.  New York was teeming with them.  The officers called out a greeting to the soldiers, asking them where they were headed.

“Just over to City Hall Park
,” the driver replied in a friendly voice.  “Delivering a spy to the gallows.  Poor girl will die all alone.  Seems her husband ran out on her, leaving her to her fate, the scoundrel.”  The officers glanced over at Abbie, their tricorns pulled low over the faces, shielding them from the sun.  She never bothered to look up, not wanting to see their scorn.  Abbie just stared straight ahead, suddenly wishing to have it all over with.  In an hour, she would no longer care.  She’d be dead and all the suffering would be behind her.  She only hoped it would be quick.  She suddenly remembered someone saying that the easiest way was to have the neck instantly broken; otherwise, it could take as much as an hour to actually die.  Abbie began to shake, her teeth rattling in her head at the thought of the agonizing death awaiting her.

The cart turned a
corner, entering a shadowed side-street flanked by shops still not open for business.  It would be another hour or so before the street began to fill with traffic, and the shops opened their doors, eager to welcome the maids and housewives who would be out doing the marketing.  Most folk were just getting out of bed, having breakfast and preparing for the long day ahead.  The patrol continued alongside, seemingly escorting the cart to City Hall Park for lack of anything better to do.

“Maybe he didn’t,”
one of the soldiers suddenly said quietly.

“Didn’t what?” the driver asked, looking up at the man with curiosity. 

“Maybe he didn’t run out on her,” he replied.  Something in Abbie’s mind snapped at the sound of the soldier’s voice.  He sounded so like Finn that the tears began to flow again, her vision blurring to the point where she couldn’t see anything at all.  Her head snapped up as the officer suddenly jumped onto the bench of the cart, startling the driver and the horses.  The horses reared, taking off at a gallop, the cart rocking from side to side.  The driver tried to rein in the horses, managing to slow them down to a trot.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled at the
officer, turning to face him, his mouth opening in shock as he saw the glint of sun on the dagger in the officer’s hand.  He barely made a sound as it slid between his ribs, piercing the heart with fatal precision, his body sliding off the bench and into the dirt road like a sack of oats.  

The sol
dier who had been with her in the cart was on his feet, musket drawn, frozen with indecision.  Killing an officer was an offense punishable by death, and he had no idea what was happening.  That split moment of uncertainty cost him his advantage as the second officer leapt into the cart, knocking him down.  The two struggled, knocking Abbie off the bench and right out of the wagon.  She flew out onto the dirt road, landing painfully on her bound hands.  The fall knocked the wind out of her, leaving her dazed, her ears ringing.  Abbie’s mouth and nose were full of dirt, making her cough and gasp for air as she rolled over onto her back, trying to sit up and get her bearings. 

Abbie looked around in panic, not understanding what was
happening.  Why were British soldiers fighting British soldiers, and what did they want with her?  The cart rocked from side to side as the soldiers wrestled with each other, evenly matched in size and strength.  The horses stomped their feet, their nostrils flaring as they sensed danger.  The other two horses wandered off, grazing peacefully halfway down the street.  Abbie’s vision was still blurred, but she froze in terror as the officer who stabbed the driver jumped off the bench, heading toward her, knife in hand.  Was he going to kill her too?  She tried to scoot away from him as he got closer, but her bound hands and tangle of skirts prevented her from moving more than a foot or so.  He got on his knees next to her, taking her by the shoulders, but she struggled against him, screaming in fear.

“Abbie, are you all right?”  Finn was shaking her by the shoulders, his faces inches away from hers.  “Abbie, it’s me.”  She just stared at him, still in shock, unable to comprehend what just happened. 

“Abbie, look at me.”  Finn took her face in his hands, forcing her to focus on his face.  It took her a few moments to comprehend that he was really there, and not a figment of her imagination.  He pulled her close, holding her tight as she sobbed into his chest, her arms around his neck like a vice, afraid to let go.

The scuffle in the wagon seemed to be over.  The guard had put up a good fight, but Sam finally managed to knock him out, using the butt of
his own musket.  He lay sprawled in the bed of the wagon, his face bloody and his body limp, but still alive.  Sam had turned away from the guard, distracted by Abbie’s screams and needing to see that she was all right. 

Abbie had never been so happy to see Sam in her whole life.  She tried to smile at him to reassure him that she was all right as she noticed movement behind him.  The guard had come to
, and was reaching for the musket Sam had carelessly left in the cart.   

“Sam
, behind you!” she yelled as Sam spun around, but it was too late.  The guard had managed to grab the musket, his hands shaking with effort.  Abbie watched in horror as he drove the bayonet into Sam’s stomach.  Sam fell to his knees, blood soaking his red tunic, his mouth open in shock as his hand went to the wound.  He stared at the blood on his hands as if unable to comprehend that the blood was his own, and he’d really been wounded.  The guard was still in the cart, musket pointed at Finn and Abbie as he tried to get to his feet.  Finn shoved Abbie out of the way as the guard fired, thankfully missing them both.  Finn ran toward the wagon before he had the chance to prime and load again.  Finn wrenched the gun out of the soldier’s hands, turning it on him and driving the bayonet into his chest.  The man fell over the side of the wagon and hit the ground with a thud, already dead. 

  “Finn, help me,” Sam moaned.  He was
on the ground next to the wagon, his hands clutching his belly.  “Finn, please.”

“Abbie, help me,” Finn called out.  “We need to get Sam in the wagon.”  Abbie grabbed Sam’s legs as Finn grabbed him beneath the arms, lifting him into the wagon. 
He shrugged off his tunic and folded it beneath Sam’s head then tore off both his sleeves, wadding them up and stuffing them into Sam’s tunic to staunch the blood.  Sam looked ashen, his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling as he gasped for breath.

“Abbie, keep pressure on his wound.  We need to go, and quickly.” 
Finn removed the driver’s coat, putting it on as he took the reins, turning the cart toward the Eastern Wharf and away from City Hall Park.  Abbie felt as if someone suddenly poured a bucket of ice water over her.  This wasn’t some dream.  This was real and Sam could die.  All thoughts of her execution were forgotten as she held the wadded cloth against the wound, begging Sam to hold on.

“Finn, where are we going?”
she cried, terrified.

“There’s a boat waiting for us at the wharf.  We’ll cross to Staten Island and then go back to
Jenkins farm.  We need to get away from here as quickly as possible.” 

Finn
jumped onto the bench and grabbed the reins, driving the cart down the street at breakneck speed.  Several people had seen them and might raise the alert before they had a chance to get away.  Abbie had noticed a curious female face in a second-floor window, the woman’s hand pressed to her mouth as she took in the carnage, but she didn’t care.  All she cared about was getting Sam to safety.  The streets were filling with traffic, making it more difficult for Finn to maneuver and forcing him to slow down.  Several people just stared after them, curious to see what the hurry was.  Abbie breathed a sigh of relief as she finally saw the water sparkling in the sunlight.  They were almost there.  Just a little further. 

The boat was already waiting for them, a grizzled old man at the oars. 
He reluctantly got out and helped Finn carry Sam into the waiting boat, laying him on the bottom where he wouldn’t be noticed.  Finn got in after Abbie, eager to leave Manhattan and the manhunt that would soon be under way. 

The boat was old and weathered, hardly large enough for the four of them.  Sam lay on the bottom, frighteningly still as Abbie tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t answering.  His face was clammy to the touch, his lips devoid of any color. 
The old man began to row, humming a tuneless melody as if there was nothing remotely strange about transporting a wounded man and a woman sentenced to hang.  He was surprisingly strong for a man his age, his muscles bunching under his dirty shirt as he rowed steadily across the Narrows.  Finn sat erect, trying to look like an officer crossing to Staten Island with his lady.  The less attention they attracted the better.  There weren’t many boats on the water, but all it took was one person to notice that something wasn’t quite right.