Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  It was unbearably painful to think of Zach, separated from her by two hundred fifty years of future history, so instead she thought of her son, the child she had given birth to, but never conceived. And as had happened to her more often of late, she found herself remembering what she had been told about Lady Arabella during her brief conversation with Zach. According to the family records in Zach’s possession, his ancestor the Honorable Zachary Bowleigh grew up an orphan, because his mother died when he was still a baby.

  There was no point in dwelling on the possibility that her own death was imminent, but her need to see her baby was suddenly so acute that her stomach cramped in pain. She eased herself quietly out of the bed, burrowing deep into her thickest dressing robe in an effort to shut out the bitter chill of Starke’s unheated corridors. She climbed the steep stairs to the third floor of the Manor, unable to shake her sense of urgency. But once upstairs, all seemed peaceful, and she opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping children.

  As soon as she entered the nursery she could hear Zach whimpering, although Annie was rocking him and crooning a lullaby. “My lady, I’m right pleased that you’re here,” the nurse said. “The baby just can’t seem to settle tonight.”

  “Perhaps he’s hungry.”

  Annie shook her head. “No, my lady, I fed him an hour ago, just like I always do at night. ‘Tis almost as if he do know that you be going away tomorrow.”

  “But only for a week,” Robyn said, as much to reassure herself as to remind the nurse. She bent down and scooped the baby into her arms. His crying stopped as if by magic, and he turned toward her, snuffling and patting the air with his tiny fists. She held her cheek against his fragile baby skin, and his hands reached for her hair, tugging gleefully. When she gave a little yelp, he seemed to look straight at her and smile.

  “You’re supposed to be learning to sleep through the night,” she said with mock severity. “Not learning how to rip out your mother’s hair.”

  Zach gurgled.

  “Yes, well, I can see that you find the concept of an uninterrupted night’s sleep highly amusing. But these midnight snacks can’t continue forever, you know.” She sat down and rocked him gently. His thumb found his mouth. He sucked sleepily, already drowsy from the rocking. His wriggles slowed; his eyelids drooped and in five minutes he was asleep.

  “You have the touch with him, my lady, and no mistake,” Annie said. A couple of weeks earlier, she had decided to stop arguing with her mistress over the baby’s care, and instead take credit for the chubby, lively robustness of the new baby. So complete was her conversion that she could often be heard haranguing the under-nursemaid to unwrap Master Zachary’s shawls and leave his legs free to kick. And having seen how remarkably free of rashes Zach’s bottom remained, she had even become a convert to the idea of regularly changing his diapers.

  Unwilling to put the baby down, Robyn cradled him in the crook of her arm, and walked over to Clementine’s bed. Staring down at the sleeping child, she wished with all her might that she had never told William that Clemmie was not his child, even though she was sure she had spoken the truth. Thank God she had never mentioned her belief that Captain Bretton was the girl’s father. Clemmie would grow up never having to bear the burden of that particular piece of information.

  Of all the many reasons she admired William, Robyn thought that his unfailing kindness to Clementine was one of the most compelling. Few men in any time period would have been capable of showing such easy, loving affection to a child who was the product of their wife’s adultery.

  Compelled by an urge to see all the children who had become so dear to her, she went into the twins’ bedroom, bending down to give them both hugs and kisses that they would have resisted fiercely if they had been awake. She ruffled their blond hair, and finally felt the sleepiness that had eluded her for most of the night catch up with her. Yawning, she returned to the nursery and put Zach gently in his cradle. Annie was already half asleep in her seat by the fire, feet tucked up onto a little stool, lap covered by a thick shawl.

  “Don’t get up,” Robyn said, putting her hand on the nurse’s shoulder. “Good night, Annie.”

  “Good night, my lady.” Despite Robyn’s request, Annie got up and bobbed a curtsy. “Don’t you worry none about the children,” she said. “I will take good care of them whilst you are gone, and Master Zachary will be fatter than ever by the time you get back.”

  “Thank you, Annie. I know they’re in good hands with you.” Robyn left the nursery, wondering if she would still be able to nurse the baby when she returned from Bristol. After a week away, it might take a while to reestablish her milk supply. Still, getting Zachary to safety in France was more important than anything else, because until he was out of the country, the lives of everyone at Starke were at risk.

  The hallway on the third floor was particularly damp and drafty. She shivered, crossing her arms and tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robe in an effort to keep them warm. She hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her, and she moved cautiously, keeping close to the wall. When she saw a shadow, darker than the surrounding gloom, creep up the stairs, she was momentarily paralyzed with fright.

  The shadow took on gray physical form and she realized it was Jackson, fully dressed, and wearing a heavy cloak. The valet seemed to become aware of her presence almost at the same moment that she recognized him.

  He gave a start. “My lady!”

  She looked at him, ice-cold with certainty of his treachery. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Why were you out of the house at this hour of the night?”

  “It lacks but two hours until dawn, my lady.”

  “That is no explanation.”

  He bowed. “Beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon, I took his lordship’s boxes downstairs to the courtyard so that they can be loaded into the baggage cart. I understood from his lordship that you wished everything to be ready so that you could set off for Bristol at the first crack of light.”

  Such a reasonable explanation, and so easy to check that it was probably true. Still, Robyn couldn’t shake the conviction that the valet had been doing more than packing bandboxes and leather portmanteaus while he was out of the house. But to accuse him of running to Captain Bretton would warn him that his role as a spy had been uncovered, so she simply nodded.

  “I hope all goes well with the preparations for our departure,” she said.

  Jackson smiled. “Never fear, my lady. My preparations go very well.”

  He gave another unctuous bow but she didn’t answer—couldn’t answer—because her teeth were chattering and she would not let him see her fright. She brushed past him and walked on without once looking back.

  * * *

  She dozed fitfully for an hour until William came into her room to wake her. Since none of the servants could be told that Mary wasn’t available, Robyn had to dress herself in the circle of warmth cast by the fast-fading fire. The task wasn’t easy and she was still struggling with the lacing on her bodice when William returned to her bedroom half an hour later, now fully dressed.

  “Are you ready?” he asked quietly. “If we can get downstairs before dawn breaks, Zachary’s disguise will be less easy to penetrate.”

  “I’m ready,” she said, tying the final knot on her bodice and throwing a heavy, beaver-lined cloak over her shoulders. Her jitters of the previous night had vanished, and she felt calm and purposeful. “Have you managed to get rid of Jackson?”

  “I have sent him on an errand to the kitchens,” William said. “Shall I tell Zachary that we are ready for him to come out and join us?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Yes, we’re ready.”

  William was gone less than a minute. He was actually smiling as he entered her bedroom, followed by a caped and hooded figure. “Mary wishes to know how she can serve you, my dear.” He stood aside with a flourish, and she had her first clear view of Zachary in his disguise.

  The caped figure curtsied,
face modestly hidden beneath the frill of its voluminous hood. “My lady,” it lisped in a high-pitched, feminine murmur. “What is your command?”

  “No command, just congratulations,” Robyn said slowly. “You have worked a near-miraculous transformation. If I did not know that Mary was locked up in the Dalrymples’ attic, you might even manage to deceive me for a few minutes.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Zachary dipped into another curtsy, but forgot to hold out his skirts as he straightened. His heel caught in the hem of his cape and he would have fallen over if William hadn’t caught him.

  Zachary disentangled his shoe. “Deuce take it,” he said in his normal voice. “I’ve been practicing all night, but these cursed skirts will drive me to Bedlam before the morning is out.”

  “Speak in such terms and in such a voice once we leave this room, and you will find yourself not in Bedlam but in Captain Bretton’s custody,” William pointed out acerbically.

  “Yes, Yes, your lordship,” Zachary squeaked, mincing across the room. “I am sorry, your lordship.”

  “The sun is beginning to break through the clouds,” Robyn said. “Let’s give ourselves every possible advantage and get into the carriage while daylight is still in short supply.” She drew on her own hood and tied the ribbons under her chin, so that she looked as bundled up as “Mary.” Fortunately for their plans, the morning air was nipped with hard frost and nobody would question why maid and mistress chose to huddle beneath multiple layers of clothing and concealing bonnets.

  When the three of them arrived downstairs, dawn was still no more than a hint of sun-warmed silver far to the east, but all was in readiness for the departure of the baron and his lady. Grooms and stable lads milled around the courtyard, their breath misting in the predawn air. Of the indoor servants, only Hackett and a half-dozen lackeys waited in the doorway to bid their master and mistress an official farewell. Robyn looked around anxiously in search of Jackson, but he was nowhere in sight. She hoped that his absence was a good omen.

  Hackett bowed very low as she and William stepped out into the courtyard but “Mary” didn’t merit so much as a glance. At a nod from Hackett, two of the footmen fell into formation on either side of the baron and baroness, for no discernible reason other than to provide a suitably impressive escort. The little party arrived at the carriage. A groom swept open the carriage door, kept closed until now to preserve the heat of hot bricks, wrapped in lamb’s wool and strewn across the floor. Another groom steadied the portable steps. A footman extended his gloved hands to assist Robyn as she climbed in; another footman awaited his chance to offer the same service to William. Once settled inside the carriage, Robyn exercised extreme willpower and refrained from looking back to reassure herself that “Mary” was still with them. Spreading her skirts, she leaned against the down pillows that had been tucked across the seats to provide her with greater comfort.

  This was the way to travel, she decided. No more crowded flights on cramped planes, but instead, a pampered departure, followed by a dignified canter through attractive countryside, cocooned in soft, warm luxury.

  “Mary” climbed into the coach and trod on Robyn’s foot. “You are very clumsy this morning,” Robyn said languidly, all too aware of the listening servants. “Take care that you do not disturb me again, Mary.”

  With a silent bob of her head, “Mary” scuttled to her assigned seat, the inferior position with her back to the horses. The footman took up the steps and Robyn exchanged a swift, triumphant glance with William, before looking away, afraid of revealing too much. William released the window strap and let down the glass, leaning out to toss halfpennies to each of the stable lads.

  “Stand clear of the horses,” he said. He waited for the servants to obey, then pulled the leather communications strap to let Aaron know they were ready to leave. Amid applause and a chorus of good wishes, the carriage lumbered forward, iron wheels rattling noisily on the cobblestones.

  The sun poked through a distant cloud just as the carriage rolled through the gates of Starke, bathing the scarlet interior in clear morning light. Robyn realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out on a rush of excited laughter.

  “We did it!” she exclaimed. “We’re away from the house and safely on our way!”

  William took her hand and kissed it in silent tribute. “Mary” watched them, grinning merrily.

  “I propose a toast,” he said, raising his hand in a mock salute. “Here’s to the glorious city of Bristol. Bristol—and freedom.”

  * * *

  Shirley, Zach’s assistant, buzzed the intercom. “Inspector Harris is on the line for you. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Put him through.” Zach pushed the sheets of monthly sales figures aside and picked up the phone. “Inspector, this is Zach Bowleigh. Do you have news for me about Gerry or Gloria?”

  “I do, indeed, Mr. Bowleigh. Startling news, in fact. It turns out that Gloria and Gerry’s mother was a woman called Violet Taunton, and Violet worked as a nanny for the Baron of Starke’s children during the Second World War.”

  So Gerry’s mother had worked for the English branch of the Bowleigh family. The circle of coincidence was growing tighter and tighter. “Go on,” Zach said.

  “My next piece of news may come as a shock to you, Mr. Bowleigh. When I found out that Violet Taunton had worked at Starke, I arranged an interview with the current Lord Bowleigh—he was one of the children Violet looked after, so he’s almost eighty now —and he told me a surprising story. Gerald was born in 1945, and his father was an American soldier. It seems there were several hundred American soldiers based in Dorset, waiting to be shipped out to the front lines in France and Germany. This soldier had an affair with Violet, got her pregnant, and then wouldn’t marry her.”

  “That’s a sad story, Inspector, but unfortunately I don’t see why you find it so surprising. There must have been thousands of women in Europe who could tell a similar tale.”

  “I wasn’t shocked by the fact that Violet Taunton found herself pregnant, Mr. Bowleigh. What shocked me was the name of Gerald Taunton’s father.”

  Zach found that he was sweating. “Who is... was... Gerry’s father?” he asked.

  “A fine young American officer by the name of William Bowleigh.”

  “William Bowleigh? You mean the baron? But he wasn’t an American soldier, he was as English as they come.”

  “No, sir, I don’t mean the Baron. The father of Gerry Taunton was William Bowleigh the Fourth, of New York City.” The inspector cleared his throat. “I believe that would be your grandfather, known as Bill Bowleigh.”

  “My grandfather!” Zach’s sweat froze into an icy chill. “My God, how can that be? He was the most uptight, honorable man I’ve ever met.”

  “You have to put yourself back to that time and place,” Inspector Harris said. “Your grandpa was due to ship out to a major battlefront. Each morning when he woke up, he knew it might be the last day he’d be alive. People do funny things in wartime. Things they would never do in normal circumstances.”

  “But why didn’t my grandfather marry Violet—” Zach broke off. “Oh, of course. He was already married to my grandmother, and they had two young children.”

  “And that, according to Lord Bowleigh, is why Gerry Taunton’s birth was kept such a deep secret. Your grandmother, apparently, wasn’t the sort of woman to forgive and forget.”

  “She certainly wasn’t, but why didn’t my grandfather admit the truth when my grandmother died!” Zach exclaimed. “He surely owed Gerry some sort of an acknowledgment after all those years.”

  “Obviously Gerry felt that way, too,” the detective said dryly.

  “How does Gloria fit into this picture?” Zach asked.

  “Violet Taunton married a carpenter called Hasskins when Gerry was still a toddler. Gloria is their child.”

  “Gerry’s half sister,” Zach murmured.

  “That’s right. It seems your grandfather did the best he could
for Violet and Gerry. According to the baron, he set Violet up in a little flat in Poole and sent them money regularly. Gerry Taunton went to good schools, and when he graduated from university, it seems like your grandpa sponsored his immigration to the States and gave him a job.”

  “But he never acknowledged that Gerry was his son,” Zach said. “Not even in his will. There were no special bequests to Gerry, no deathbed acknowledgment of what he’d done.”

  The detective grunted. “It sounds like your grandfather never came to terms with what he’d done, doesn’t it?”

  “And Gerry suffered for my grandfather’s moral cowardice.”

  “You could say that. But at least we have a darn good motive for the scam being worked at your Gallery, don’t we? From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if Gerry Taunton must have commissioned that first fake not too long after your grandfather died. Got pissed off at being ignored and decided to get back at you, the legitimate son and heir.”

  “I’m having trouble absorbing all the implications of this,” Zach said. “Where do we go from here?”

  “You don’t go anywhere,” the detective said. “And you don’t do anything that might make Gerry Taunton suspicious. I need to coordinate my investigation with the New York City police and I can tell you the paperwork is already proving a nightmare. Don’t do anything that would trigger Gerry’s suspicions until I can get an extradition warrant prepared for Gloria Hasskins.”

  “Are you telling me I just have to sit here and do nothing? Even though Gerry Taunton probably spent two years doing his best to destroy my Gallery, and his sister practiced her sharpshooting on the woman I was hoping to marry?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Mr. Bowleigh. And you’d better listen to me if you want any arrests to be made in this case. Sit still, keep your head down, and make damn sure Gerry Taunton never has any reason to doubt your friendship.”