by Kristy Tate
“Me?” The female voice drew nearer. “Are you not the one gadding about in a cloak and mask?”
“You were supposed to be in Lady Grantham’s carriage.”
“She left without me.”
“Then who, pray tell, had taken your place?”
“I do not know. I cannot tell.”
“By gad, she had your likeness.”
“Whom else knew of the emeralds?”
Jason leaned against a tree and pulled Celia against him. Her shivering increased, and her eyes looked round and scared in her pale face. He knew he had to get her warm and dry.
“Maybe we’ll wake soon,” she whispered.
Jason nodded, and tightened his embrace as footsteps drew near. He wanted to run, but he knew Celia could do little more than totter. He held her close as the voices approached.
“I say!” the male voice exclaimed.
“What have we here?” the female asked.
Jason blinked as his very own doppelganger walked into the clearing. Celia wilted in his arms. He shot her a quick look to make sure she hadn’t fainted.
Her gaze darted to his, before returning to stare at the couple sharing the clearing in the woods.
“By Jove!” the Jason look-a-like exclaimed.
“Is this some sort of ruse?” the Celia impersonator asked.
Jason rubbed his hands over Celia’s arms, trying to keep her awake and alert, as he studied the new arrivals. The carbon-copy Jason dressed in black, reminded Jason of Wesley from the Princess Bride. The Celia creature wore a crimson dress with a plunging neckline. She had her red hair piled on top of her head.
The other Jason collected himself first. “Ah! We have found the imposters!” Stepping forward, he pointed the gun at Celia’s head. “Tell me, where are the emeralds?”
Celia opened her mouth, but no words came out, so Jason answered for her. “She doesn’t know anything about emeralds.”
The gun swiveled toward him. “And who, pray tell, are you?”
“Jason West.” He stumbled for something more to add, and finally returned to the Princess Bride for inspiration. “At your service.”
The other Jason cocked his eyebrow. “At my service? So you say, but what does that really mean?”
“Hmmm,” the other Celia murmured as she stepped forward to study them. “Where have you come from?”
Jason’s mind raced. He couldn’t find an answer that sounded believable.
“The colonies.” Celia sounded like a frog.
“The colonies, you say.” The other Celia slowly circled. Then she reached out and touched one of Celia’s wet curls. “And why are you in near nakedness?”
“In the dark and in the woods?” the other Jason added.
The redhead bit her nail, obviously thinking. After a moment, she said, “Who you are and why you are here is irrelevant. What matters is simply this—where are the jewels?”
“How would we know that?” Celia asked at the same time Jason asked, “What jewels?”
“What sort of devilry is this?” the other Jason asked.
“I do not know, but I believe it may be to our benefit.” The other Celia tapped her chin, thinking.
“They are not to be trusted.”
“Trusted? Of course not. But that does not mean that they cannot prove useful.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the other Jason asked.
“Probably not,” the other Celia said, “because my thoughts are deliciously clever.” She turned her back to the other Jason. “My buttons, if you please.”
But he didn’t move.
“My dear Percy, I must insist on your aid!” the redhead said.
“But Honoria, think this through,” Percy said. “One simply cannot gad about in one’s all-together.”
“But why not?” Honoria waved her hand at Celia. “They are.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you see, dressed in our clothes, everyone will assume that they are us. All we have to do now is make it back to the ship undetected.”
“We still don’t have the emeralds.” Percy’s gaze slid over Celia, his lids lowered with suspicion. “Besides, they are wet.” His tone carried the weight of his disapproval.
“Oh, buck up! We won’t wear the rags for long, just until we reach John and our trunks.” Honoria waved her hand at her buttons. “Come now, be a dear and unloose me.”
Moments later, Jason and Celia both shivered in the moonlight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hugging her arms to her chest, Celia eyed the dress and mountain of petticoats.
“We can either put on their clothes, or risk hypothermia,” Jason said. He wore paisley boxers and nothing else.
Celia had her panties and bra—technically, two clothing items to Jason’s one. So why did she feel so much more naked? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he felt just as exposed as she did. She watched him step into a pair of breeches. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious.
Celia picked up the dress, loving the feel of the satin. The buttons looked like tiny shells. She ran her fingers along the hem, appreciating the small, straight seams. How long would it take to sew such a dress by hand, using nothing but a needle and thread?
Jason shot her a quizzical look.
“I’m going to need help putting this on,” Celia told him. It took her a moment to figure out where the ruffles started and stopped on the petticoat.
Jason grinned at her as she stepped into it. “You look like Little Bo Peep.”
“Well, hopefully, we’ll wake up before we find any sheep.” Ignoring the bony looking corset, Celia pulled the dress over her head and slid her arms into the sleeves. It smelled like lavender. She turned her back to Jason so he could button her up, but he was struggling to put on the boots.
Celia choked back a giggle. “You look a little like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
Jason grunted. “I was going for Wesley from The Princess Bride.”
“Do I look like Buttercup?”
Jason studied her. “No. More like Mary Queen of Scots.”
“Oh.” Celia didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. Growing up, she and her friends had played Bloody Mary, spinning themselves silly in a candlelit bathroom, staring at themselves in a mirror while chanting Bloody Mary thirteen times in hopes of waking the Scottish Queen and having her ghost appear in the mirror.
“I’m not Scottish, by the way,” Celia said. “My ancestors are from York.”
“Wow. That’s pretty specific. How do you know that?”
Celia shrugged. “Since my mom has been sick, she’s spent a lot of time on find-my-ancestors.com. She loves that Do You Know Who You Are show.”
“Hey, maybe we’re near York. Maybe you’re related to Honoria.”
“I hope not.”
“She’s really beautiful,” Jason said. “And she looks just like you.”
“Yeah, but she’s not very honorable—despite her name.” Celia flushed from his compliment, although he didn’t even seem to know that he had handed one out. “Do you think you could be related to Percy?”
Jason scowled at the boots. “His feet are way smaller than mine.”
“He did look like he was wearing Jesus shoes when he walked away.” Celia grinned at the memory. Then she sobered. “We should have followed them.”
“What for?” Jason tucked the boots under his arm. “We’re going to wake up any minute.”
“What if we don’t?”
“We will.”
Celia sneezed, and her shivering started up again.
“Come on, let’s go and find a tavern or something.”
Celia sneezed again. “What if we do? We don’t have any money.”
“Well, what we can’t do is stand here in the dark, freezing to death.” Jason nodded toward a smudge of smoke staining the night sky. “Maybe that’s an inn.”
Celia hobbled after him, her foot throbbing with every step. She couldn’t help it, she engaged the awfulizer. Here she was—who knew where or wh
en—with a puncture wound in her foot, a brewing head cold, and no antibiotics, a Tylenol, or even a tissue. Jason West was her only companion, and even though she liked kissing him, she didn’t think he was the nurturing spoon-feeding-chicken soup-kind of guy.
He turned to her. “Do you need help?”
Of course she needed help. She needed psychiatric help, and if he believed any of this, then so did he.
Jason wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “Lean on me,” he said.
Through the shadowy trees, Celia spotted a roof of a square white house. Candlelight flickered in the windows, sending out a warm, welcoming glow. Celia slowed her hobbling. “As soon as we say anything and they hear our accents, they’ll know we’re frauds.”
Jason, practically carrying Celia, refused to let her stop. “We can’t stay out here all night. We’re both soaking wet.”
“But we don’t have any money! They won’t give us a room if we can’t pay.”
Jason didn’t say anything, but pressed his lips into a straight line, and practically carried her up the front porch. A sign that read, The Duck and Boar Inn, swung on iron rings above them.
Celia looked through the window at a large room with a trestle table and a pair of rocking chairs flanking a stone hearth. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Through an ajar door, Celia saw a hallway with another open door.
“I won’t, I tell you!” a young girl cried out from somewhere in the depths of the house. “You can’t make me!”
A deep voice responded in a low, coaxing tone.
“I can’t!” Panic now laced the girl’s voice. “Help! Somebody help!”
Jason looked at Celia with a raised eyebrow.
“Do you think…”Celia began.
“We should probably keep a low profile,” Jason murmured.
Something crashed. A door slammed.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” a man bellowed.
“I should help her,” Jason whispered.
The girl screamed.
“We need to help her,” Celia agreed as she pulled away from his warmth and headed for the door.
“What are you going to do?” Jason asked.
“I don’t know, but somebody has to do something.”
Another scream followed another clatter, and Jason bolted through the door. Celia followed, hopping on one foot. More crashing, yelling and screaming, and then Jason’s calm voice, “Let her go.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m someone from the future, and I’ve come to tell you that this can only end badly.”
Celia stopped in the doorway. No one noticed her except for the young girl clasped in the arms of a giant, dark man, who would be handsome if not drunk and angry.
Celia wondered where the other people staying at the inn might be. And even if there weren’t any other guests, where were the innkeeper and his wife? Celia’s gaze darted around the room looking for a weapon. She spotted a corked brown jug on the mantel.
The girl screamed and fought the big man who looked like a large brown bear trying to keep hold of a wiggling fish.
“Let her go!” Jason demanded.
Celia limped toward the mantel, picked up the solid jug, and threw it at the big man’s head.
The jug hit the wall with a solid smack and pottery shards and a clear brown liquid showered the man and his captive. Finally, she had someone’s attention.
Jason stepped forward and hit the man on the chin. The man stumbled back, slipped in the mess from the jug, and fell, hitting his head on the edge of the table as he collapsed.
Jason rubbed his fist and stood over the fallen man. “So much for a low profile,” he muttered.
Celia went to the shivering girl and pulled her into her arms. “Are you all right?”
The girl nodded. She cast a sad look at the man at their feet. He lay in a puddle, bits of the broken jug scattered around him.
“I thought we were going to be married,” the girl whispered. “But I’m afraid…” her voice trailed away.
Jason dropped to his knees and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s alive.” He climbed to his feet and inspected his bruised knuckles. “We can’t stay here. He’ll wake up any minute and he won’t be in a good mood.”
“Come with me.” The girl took Celia’s hand and pulled her through the quiet house.
“Wait,” Jason said. He grabbed the man’s foot and yanked off a boot. Sitting in a chair, he pulled the boot on. “It fits!” He put on the other one and grinned.
“Please hurry,” the girl said.
Jason followed. After they slipped out the back door, the girl led them to the stables where the horses slept. The animals’ warm breath escaped through the chinks of the crudely constructed wooden framed building. Hay and sawdust lay scattered over the ground.
The girl sighed. “I guess I shall have to go back to my uncle’s house.” She bit her lip, looking as if she had more to say. After a moment, she blurted out, “Do you wish to accompany me?” Her gaze darted between Jason and Celia. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Huh, no,” Jason said.
“That would be…our pleasure,” Celia said.
“It would mean so much to me.” The girl looked relieved. “It’s so late and dark.”
Celia nodded, but Jason’s gaze locked with hers.
“My uncle’s house is just through the woods.” The girl paused and dropped into a curtsey. “I’m Penelope Hargrove.”
“And we’re Jason and Celia West.”
“Siblings?” Penelope asked.
“Yes,” Celia blurted out before Jason could come up with a different answer.
“And where are you headed?” Penelope asked.
“To the colonies,” Jason said. “That’s where we’re from.”
“Oh goodness!” Penelope exclaimed. “That must be why your accents are so strange. I’ve never met anyone from the colonies before.” She led them past a few outbuildings and to the edge of a forest. “I’m so glad you’re here. I would be terrified to walk through the woods on my own in the dark. Of course, I’ve done it a hundred times during the day, but it’s not at all the same thing, is it?” Penelope glanced over her shoulder and noticed Celia limping for the first time. “Oh dear, are you hurt?”
“I’ll be okay…I mean, fine.” But Celia wasn’t fine. Her foot throbbed, her head ached, and she wanted to go home…until she saw the castle.
“Is that your uncle’s?”
“Yes,” Penelope sighed. “I told you it wasn’t far.” She was quiet for a moment, before she added. “I never seem to get very far.”
“Where did you want to go?” Jason asked.
“Gretna Green to be married.” She gulped back a small sob. “But I had never seen Mr. Alexander in his cups before.”
“In his cups…” Jason muttered.
“It means he was drunk,” Celia told him. “She hadn’t seen him drunk before.”
“Yes,” Penelope said, “he became quite altered altogether.”
“That means he acted differently,” Celia whispered to Jason.
“I know what that means,” Jason said. “You don’t have to translate!”
Celia ignored him and turned back to Penelope. “So, you were going to elope?”
“I thought it was going to be terribly romantic…but then we stopped less than a mile away.” Penelope’s voice caught. “I wonder if he intended to marry me at all. But I had to do something. I was simply bonkers with boredom.”
They tramped through the dark, quiet woods, their footsteps the only sound. The quiet, so deep and dark, reminded Celia of how far she was from where she really belonged. Even in Northeast Connecticut, where, despite its proximity to New York City and Boston, was still considered rural, life hummed. Traffic roared, power lines buzzed, TVs babbled. Here, in the dead of night, even the bugs fell silent.
Penelope took Celia’s hand. “Have you ever known what it’s like be kept so close and so cooped up that you are ready t
o explode?”
“Do you worry what your uncle may say now?” Jason asked. “Will he explode?”
“No. He won’t even know.” Penelope gave another long drawn out sigh. “He’s away to the West Indies. It will be at least another month until he returns.” She gave the castle a bleak look. “I should wonder if anyone has even noticed I left.”
“So you live alone in that enormous castle?”
Penelope laughed. “I would hardly call Hayworth House a castle. And of course, I’m rarely alone. We have a staff of over a hundred.”
Celia had nothing to compare the massive and imposing Hayworth House to, other than Hogwarts and Downton Abbey, and both of those places were fictional. It seemed hard to believe that people actually lived in such a house.
Penelope must have noticed the surprised look on Jason’s face. “Have you no servants in the Colonies?”
Jason shook his head.
“Is that why you haven’t a maid or a man with you?” Penelope asked.
“Servants are very rare where we come from,” Celia said.
“Oh, you are ever so lucky! I’m surrounded by an army in aprons! My uncle put a hateful woman to be my duenna, and I’m so guarded and sheltered that nothing even the tiniest bit amusing ever happens to me. So, you must see why I was in such a pitch to escape!”
Penelope hung her head. “But Mr. Alexander wasn’t exactly a lark, either. Oh, I know I’ve been very silly and wicked. I thought it would be romantic, and it wasn’t in the least.” She raised her eyes to Jason. “At least, not until you showed up. When you fought him for me, when you sought to save my virtue—that was terribly romantic.”
Penelope clapped her hands. “Oh, do say you can stay for at least a few days! Everything here is tedious and DULL, but if I can have your company, I know we shall have ever so much fun.”
Celia thought that she would be warmer once they were inside, but even after Penelope led them through the back kitchen door, Celia still shivered.
Penelope put her finger to her lips and motioned for them to follow. With only moonlight shining through wavy glass windows, they made their way up a flight of narrow, wooden stairs.
“We’ll take the servants’ passage,” Penelope whispered. “When Uncle’s away, no one uses these.”
