Sins of Omission (24 page)

May 1686

Paris, France

William Trumbull quivered with rage as he reread the letter from England.  He had been reluctant when His Majesty King James II appointed him as Envoy Extraordinary to France, but had accepted nonetheless, and had done his best to make his time in France meaningful.  But this latest assignment was an absolute slap in the face.  Trumbull was well aware that his anti-Catholic views had garnered him enemies, particularly at the Court of Louis XIV, and his attempts to better the conditions for French Protestants after the Edict of Fontainebleau had raised a few eyebrows, but he was convinced that the final straw had been his unwilling association with Hugo Everly.  Sir Trumbull tried his best to avoid Everly at Court, but to blatantly ignore a man who’d been welcomed by Louis with open arms was an insult to the monarch and a testament of his own feelings, which he wasn’t allowed to have, at least not in public. 

Sir Trumbull had been forced to welcome Everly to France and to speak to him for at least a few minutes every time their paths crossed, despite the fact that he would have liked to throttle the man with his bare hands.  The nerve!  The absolute nerve of showing up like that.  And how in the world had he managed to escape from Barbados?  That was a question that tormented Sir Trumbull, who secretly believed that the wrong man had been sentenced after all.  That poor wretch who claimed to be a cousin or some such, had paid the price for Everly’s sins, and was now toiling on some plantation while Hugo Everly was sipping champagne and enjoying the best that life had to offer, with two women by his side, if the gossip was to be believed.  What a contemptible libertine, Sir Trumbull fumed as he crumpled the letter and threw it across the room in sheer frustration. 

The new assignment was a punishment, Sir Trumbull was in no doubt about that, and it was to the last place on earth he wished to go.  Being surrounded by Catholics was difficult enough, but in Constantinople, where he was being sent effective immediately, he would be surrounded by Mussulmen; men whose Saracen religion was abhorrent to him and defied everything he’d been raised to believe.  To make matters worse, his dear wife would have to endure life in Topkapi Palace, if that’s where they’d be quartered, and come into possible contact with the women of the sultan’s harem.  What an insult to a good Christian woman to have to witness such degeneracy, Trumbull raged as he refilled his wine glass. 

However, to refuse was unthinkable, so he would just have to find a way to make the new posting bearable.  At least Luke Marsden would be coming with him.  Unlike himself, Luke was a charming young man who often added great social value to a situation.  He managed to smooth ruffled feathers in a way that was so subtle as to make the subject of his efforts regain good spirits, without ever realizing that they were being skillfully manipulated.  Of course, Marsden would have to give up that little strumpet of his.  That was actually for the best, because the younger man was clearly besotted despite the girl’s association with Everly and Sir Trumbull’s warnings.  Nothing he said had made a dent in the young man’s ardor, not even the rumors about the chit and Everly. 

What was wrong with young men these days?  Why could they simply not marry a comely, God-fearing woman of their parents’ choice as he had?  Sir Trumbull had never lusted after his wife, nor felt any undue sentiment, but they had a good, solid marriage; the type of marriage a gentleman should have, rather than this sordid, lustful union Luke was so intent on.  Sir Trumbull performed his husbandly duties once a week, but the few minutes it took were never less than chaste, with his wife fully covered, and himself wearing his nightshirt.  In all his years of marriage, he’d never seen his wife unclothed, and he liked it that way.  He was able to show her respect and deference, something that might not come easily had he ever viewed her as an object of sexual desire.  And there had been a few in his youth, but that was all behind him now.  Desire had no place in his life.

Trumbull pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in some air in an effort to calm himself.  He would have to tell his dear Elizabeth of the new post, and offer her the option of returning to England.  She could wait for his return in the country of her birth where she wouldn’t have to be exposed to the depravity and unchristian principles of the heathens who populated the Ottoman Empire.  Elizabeth was a devoted wife and would likely offer to come with him, which he actually hoped for, but he had to give her the choice nonetheless.  No Christian woman should ever be forced to go to such a barbaric country, and should only go willingly if she were a missionary, devoted to spreading the word of God.

William Trumbull finally managed to regain some control and penned a quick note to Marsden, asking him to call at his earliest convenience.  Seeing the look on Marsden’s face would actually be something of a treat, if William were honest with himself.  Luke would do his duty, just as the Trumbulls would; he had little choice.  William Trumbull sent off the note with a servant and resumed his pacing, his blood boiling once again at the insult King James had issued him for recognizing that traitor Everly.  Yes, Trumbull would make the voyage to Turkey and put a good face on it, but he would be damned if that reprobate benefited from his disgrace. 

Whatever Everly had done to avoid deportation to the West Indies would not help him now.  There were discreet ways of getting rid of someone, and people who were only too willing to accept the task with the minimum amount of questions.  William Trumbull finally stopped pacing and sat down at his desk.  He had letters to write, lists to make, and an assassination to plan.

Luke tried to still the hammering of his heart as the carriage stopped by the Jardin des Tuileries.  He’d gone over his speech a hundred times during the short ride to the gardens, but it didn’t sound any better.  The news had come as a shock, and he secretly agreed with Sir Trumbull that it was a form of punishment rather than an opportunity to further his political aspirations.  Luke wouldn’t have minded going to Constantinople if it weren’t for Frances.  How would she take the news?  He thought he was finally on his way to winning her heart, but now he felt as nervous as a small boy waiting for his father to mete out punishment for some transgression, and fearing the worst. 

Frances gave him a wan smile as she ascended the carriage steps and sat across from him, as if desperate to put distance between them.  Her eyes darted nervously toward the closed door, but she remained seated, waiting to hear what he had to say.  On any other day, Luke might have wondered what cooled her ardor since their last meeting, but today his mind wasn’t on making love.  He wanted her as much as ever, but couldn’t bring himself to perform when he was in such turmoil.  The conversation had to come first. 

“Frances, there’s been a development,” he began as he reached for her hands, fooling himself with the illusion of his ability to keep her close.  Frances allowed him to take her hands in his, but they were cold and limp, even when he tried to thread his fingers through hers.

“What kind of development?” Frances frowned at him, clearly taken aback by his tone.  She might have been expecting a renewal of his proposal, despite their agreement to wait a while, so the tension in Luke’s voice made her nervous, and she drew her hands away and folded them in her lap.

“Sir William Trumbull is being recalled from his post in Paris.  He’s being sent to Constantinople, and I am to go with him.  Do you know where that is, my sweet?” Luke asked carefully.

“Yes, I do.  Lord Everly has been teaching me geography.  I quite like it,” she added, still gazing up at Luke with an air of expectation. 

“Do you understand what this means, Frances?  I’m leaving Paris in a few weeks, after I’ve completed the arrangements for Sir Trumbull.  He’s leaving next week.  He will first go to England with his wife, then travel to Constantinople on his own.  His wife has refused to accompany him,” Luke added as he watched Frances nervously, praying that she wouldn’t use Elizabeth Trumbull’s refusal to accompany her husband as an example.

Frances smiled at Luke warmly.  “It will be very exciting, don’t you think?  It must be a terribly exotic place.”

“Sweetheart, I want you to come with me.  We can be married before we leave Paris, and you’ll come as my wife.  Just think of all the wonderful experiences we can have.  It will be a great adventure.  Please say yes, Franny.”

Luke hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, but had to eventually suck in some air because Frances was taking too long to answer.  She was studying him as if he were some unknown specimen, her face going through a myriad of emotions right before his eyes. 

“Frances?” Luke prompted, desperate for her to agree.

Frances reached up and cupped his cheek, her eyes moist with unshed tears.  “Luke, I care for you, I really do, but I can’t go with you.”

“I will take good care of you; I promise.  I won’t be like your husband.  I will be kind and loving, and make your happiness my priority,” Luke pleaded, but he could see that the girl’s mind was made up.

“I know you would be a wonderful husband, Luke, but I simply can’t bear to be separated from the only family I have.  I’m too frightened to put myself at the mercy of a husband again, not without a family to turn to.  Lord and Lady Everly are the only family I have, and I won’t be parted from them, not ever.  Being with them makes me feel safe and loved, and I can’t agree to follow you to the other side of the world on nothing more than a promise of love and kindness.  I hope you can forgive me,” she added meekly.

“So, you don’t trust me then?” Luke spat out, suddenly angry.  “You give yourself to me, compromise your reputation, but you don’t trust me.  You think that I would hurt you without the protection of your adopted father.  Well, have you ever thought that you might be a burden to him, and he might be happy to marry you off?”

“Is that what you really think?” Frances asked, her face going pale.

“No, I don’t.”  Luke grudgingly admitted.

“I know I’m only fifteen, but I am not as naïve as you believe me to be.  I know that Hugo would like to see me married, but I very much doubt that he would want to see me travel thousands of miles to accomplish that.  Lord and Lady Everly plan to return to England, and I would like to return with them, and live close to them once I have my own family.  I’ve been alone for far too long, Luke, and I won’t be alone again.  I won’t allow anyone to decide for me, not Hugo, and not you.  I’m sorry if you are hurt, but I must do what’s best for me.” 

With that, Frances bolted from the carriage, leaving Luke torn between anger and acute pain in the vicinity of his heart.

I covered the chamber pot with a towel to contain the smell and handed it to Marthe before turning my attention back to Frances.  She was white as a sheet, her forehead clammy to the touch, and her eyes hooded with fatigue.  Frances lay back on the pillows and focused on breathing, as I’d instructed her to do to keep the nausea at bay.  Her hand went to her stomach as another wave assaulted her, but she managed not to be sick.  She didn’t have anything left to vomit, since she couldn’t manage to keep anything down, not even broth.

When Frances first began to feel unwell a few days ago, I’d assumed that something hadn’t agreed with her, but if this were a case of food poisoning, it would have passed by now, and no one else in the house was sick.  Frances seemed to feel better by midmorning, but ill again by the time she woke up.  I could see the tension in her face and the fear in her eyes.  She knew what I was thinking, and judging by her expression, I had every right to be concerned.

“Frances, when was your last monthly flow?” I asked carefully.  I tracked mine carefully, but wasn’t sure if Frances did the same.  Young girls were sometimes very sloppy about that kind of thing.

“It was in the middle of March,” Frances replied, wincing with worry.

“It’s the second week of May,” I stated unnecessarily.  “You’re a month late.”  Was it really possible?  Hugo had made sure that Frances was chaperoned at all times.  When and where could she have found the opportunity to be with someone? 
Of course, she hadn’t been as closely watched at Versailles
, I thought, suddenly realizing that Luke must have taken advantage of the situation.  I didn’t think that Frances would have initiated any kind of tryst; she was still too scarred from her experiences with Lionel Finch and the loss of her baby, but if the right amount of pressure were applied, I could see how she might have succumbed.

“Yes,” was all that Frances said before she turned away from me. 

“Frances, look at me.  Are you with child?” I asked sternly, praying that Frances would tell me that there was absolutely no chance she could be pregnant.  Sometimes there were unexplained delays caused by anxiety or a change in diet even when there was no chance of pregnancy.

“Yes,” she said again.  “I believe I am.”

“Who is the father, Frances?” I asked, horrified.  “Is it Luke?”

Frances kept her face turned away from me, her lips compressed into a thin line.  She didn’t wish to tell me, but she would tell Hugo.  She worshipped Hugo, and wouldn’t be able to hold back from telling him.  I sat by her side and waited patiently until the morning sickness passed, leaving Frances looking considerably better.  Her color had improved, and she seemed to be hungry.  She reached for her forgotten breakfast tray, eating the buttered roll in two bites and drinking the now cold chocolate. 

“Frances, come downstairs with me, please,” I said, rising to my feet. 

“You are going to tell him, aren’t you?” she asked, all hope gone from her voice.  “He will be so angry,” she whispered as she turned her back to me to have her laces done up.

“I have no choice.  Hugo is the head of this household, and he will decide what’s to be done.”

“I’m really sorry, Neve.  You must believe me.  I never meant for this to happen.”

“I know, love.”  I couldn’t be angry with the girl.  She looked so young and frightened that my heart went out to her.  I’d never thought to educate her on ways of avoiding pregnancy, or even how babies were made.  I suppose she knew the basic facts, but it would never have occurred to her to ask her lover to ensure that there were no consequences, although that in itself was a risky game.  Many a woman had gotten pregnant anyway.

Hugo was in the library, composing a letter to his nephew.  He’d written to Clarence several times, but still had not had a response.  Hugo worried that Clarence blamed him for his mother’s suicide, and was willing to do anything to regain the boy’s trust.  At the moment, the quill was suspended in midair, Hugo staring out the window at the glorious May morning rather than actually writing.  He put down the quill and smiled brightly when we came in, but his expression quickly changed to one of dismay when he saw the solemn expression on our faces.

“What is it?  What’s wrong?” he asked as he jumped to his feet.  “Is it Valentine?”

“No, Hugo, the baby is sleeping in the garden.  Elodie is with her,” I hurried to assure him.  He was always terrified that something would happen to Valentine, since the daughter he’d had with his first wife died in infancy before he ever saw her.  She’d been passed off as his wife’s second husband’s child, but Hugo knew the truth, and grieved for the child he never met.

Hugo looked from me to Frances and back again, waiting for one of us to speak.  Frances wasn’t about to do it, so I took it upon myself to share the news. 

“It seems that Frances is with child,” I said quietly, wishing I could just take back the words and the fact.  Hugo looked stricken as he stared at Frances.

“Is this true?” he breathed.

“I haven’t seen a midwife yet, but I think so,” Frances mumbled, all color draining from her face again.  I hoped she wouldn’t be sick again since I had nothing to shove in front of her face should she vomit.

“Frances, who is the father?” Hugo asked calmly.  I knew what it cost him not to lose his temper, but he spoke softly, so as not to intimidate the girl.  He could see how frightened Frances was; she looked like she wished the floor would open up and just swallow her so she wouldn’t have to face Hugo’s anger.

“I can’t say,” Frances replied.  She was clearly terrified, but was holding her ground.

“Frances, I need to know who the father is so that I can put this right.  You must tell me.”

“I can’t,” Frances said again. She went even paler, and her eyes were downcast, but she wouldn’t be intimidated.

I saw the change come over Hugo’s face as he reacted to what Frances was saying.  He clenched his fist, but forced himself not to say something he would regret.

“Sweetheart, has someone hurt you?” he asked gently.  “Has some man forced himself on you?”

Frances shook her head miserably.  She obviously hadn’t expected Hugo to come to that conclusion, but given her answers it was obvious that he’d think she either didn’t know the name of her assailant, or didn’t want to marry a man who’d assaulted her.

“No, Lord Everly, no one hurt me.  I was a willing participant.”

“So why won’t you give me his name?” Hugo asked, exasperated.  “Is it because you don’t wish to marry him?”

              Frances just stared at the floor, seemingly rooted to the spot.  Whatever her reasons, she wasn’t talking.

              “The child is mine.”

I whirled around to see who was behind me, and was shocked to find that Archie had entered the study and was standing in the doorway, his face set in hard lines as he faced Hugo across the room.

“Frances, is that true?” Hugo asked, still watching the girl.  Frances gave a barely perceptible nod, which nearly sent Hugo over the edge.

“You dog,” he spat out at Archie, his eyes blazing with fury.  “How dare you take advantage of this girl after what she’d been through?  I should have you horsewhipped, but I owe you too much to see you debased that way.  Get out of my sight.  I will deal with you later,” Hugo roared. 

Archie turned on his heel and strode from the room, but not before I saw the expression on his face.  I was sure that he was lying, but whatever had made him claim responsibility wasn’t for me to question.  Perhaps the child truly was his.  After all, he and Frances spent time together unchaperoned, and they had ample opportunity to meet since they lived under the same roof.  All Frances would have to do is sneak out of her room after everyone had gone to sleep and go to Archie’s bedroom on the third floor.  No one would have paid any attention, and even if they had, they’d keep silent. 

“Frances, please return to your room,” Hugo asked calmly, but I could see the tremor in his left hand as he hastily balled it into a fist.  “I’d like to speak to my wife alone.”

Frances didn’t make eye contact as she scurried from the room; her head bent, and her eyes fixed on the floor.  I couldn’t tell if she was relieved to be dismissed or burning with shame and regret.  It was ironic to think that teenage girls were the same in every century, except in this time, they had fewer options.  I tried not to think of a future in which Valentine was a defiant teenager, driving us to the brink of madness the way Frances was doing now, and she wasn’t even our own child.  What would it feel like if it were our own daughter who’d dropped this kind of bombshell on us?

I closed the door behind the girl as Hugo sank back into the chair, his mouth drooping at the corners.  He was upset rather than furious, which was probably a good thing, but I suddenly felt an overwhelming tenderness toward him.  I walked around the desk and stood behind his chair with my arms around him.  “I’m sorry,” I said.

“I know.  I tried so hard to keep her safe, to give her a chance at a better future.  And now she’s gone and ruined it all,” Hugo sighed.  “She could have had a good life with Luke, but he won’t have her now, will he?  Besides, Luke is preparing to leave for Constantinople.  Did you know that?”

I hadn’t, but now wasn’t the time to be shocked by the news.  “I’d hate for Frances to leave us,” I said.  “We’d likely never seen her again if she went with Luke, and Turkey might not be the best place for a girl like Frances.  She would feel completely isolated unless she struck up a friendship with some other diplomat’s wives.”

“You’re probably right, but she could have just rejected his offer rather than getting herself with child by Archie.”  Hugo pulled me around and settled me on his lap.  “I just don’t understand it, Neve.  Archie is a good man.  He’s always liked women, but he’s never involved himself with anyone who wasn’t willing and understood the ramifications.  I’ve never known him to go with young maidens.  Archie doesn’t want that type of commitment; he’d always said so.  What would possess him to bed Frances?”

“Hugo, have you seen them together?” I asked, suddenly realizing something that had eluded me all this time.  “He barely looks at her when she’s in the room for fear of his feelings showing in his eyes.  And Frances has been avoiding him for about two months now.  Perhaps they succumbed to a mutual passion and then realized their mistake and tried to stay away from each other.  I do think he loves her though,” I mused.

“Well, it doesn’t much matter now.  He’ll have to marry her.  At least I know he’ll be good to her, and she won’t have to leave us after all.”

“No, I suppose not, but I have a feeling there’s more to this story.”

“Perhaps Frances should see a physician before any decisions are made.  Could she be wrong about this?” Hugo asked hopefully.

“She could, but I think she probably isn’t.  Women tend to be more fertile after getting pregnant the first time, so her body might have been ripe.  And she wouldn’t know how to avoid pregnancy.”

“But Archie would,” Hugo protested.  “I’ve never known him to get a woman with child.  Or maybe he just never told me,” he conceded.  “What a dreadful mess this is.”

Hugo suddenly looked stricken as he looked at me, his eyes opening wide.  “Oh dear God, Neve, is this what we’re going to have to worry about once Valentine gets older?  I’d never realized what it was like to have a daughter.  I swear I’ll kill any man who so much as touches her hand,” he swore.  “First Jane gets herself pregnant, and now Frances.  Why can’t these girls keep their legs crossed until marriage?” he fumed.

“I was pregnant before we got married,” I gently reminded him.

“Yes, but I would have married you in a heartbeat had the circumstances been different.  I was always going to take responsibility for you and our child; you know that.”

“I know, love,” I replied soothingly.  I wrapped my arms around Hugo’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss.  His lips felt stiff against mine, but he began to relax and returned the kiss as he wrapped his arms tighter around me.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.  “I was just taken unawares.”

“Weren’t we all?” 
Archie most of all
, I thought.