Toil And Trouble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins)

by H. P. Mallory

  Fuck.

  SIXTEEN

  I felt like I stood there looking like a complete and total idiot for a few minutes, although it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. While I might have looked like a big dope, without a thought in my eggshell head, inside my head the wheels were turning. Thoughts spun through my mind, colliding with one another until I developed a massive headache.

  I was faced with a fact that was difficult to swallow. Somehow, Rand had managed to send me back in time. Despite how ludicrous it sounds, I couldn’t fathom how else it was possible—how Pelham was alive and Rand looked like Sherlock Holmes … but above all, how neither one had a clue as to who I was.

  “How do you know our names?” Sherlock demanded.

  I couldn’t find my voice.

  “Perhaps Miss Berg told her,” Pelham answered, appearing the calmest of us all.

  “What year is it?” I barked, surprised by the harsh sound of my voice.

  Rand glanced at Pelham but Pelham just shrugged, a smile lighting up his eyes. “Perhaps the cold has made her wonky.”

  Irritation burned my stomach. “I’m not wonky. Just … please answer the question.”

  Rand faced me again with no expression. “1878.”

  I grasped my throat in shock, fingering the amber amulet which in some small way was a relief to know it still existed. Like somehow this reminder of Mathilda would help get me through the fact that now I could add “Time Traveler” to my resume right next to “Detail-Oriented Witch” and “Resuscitator of the Dead.”

  “She looks a bit pale,” Pelham said, his brows drawn in concern. He stood up and approached me while Rand continued studying me from the fireplace. Both of them were becoming blurry, weaving in and out of focus. “I believe she is about to faint, Balfour.”

  ~

  When I awoke, I found myself wedged into a bed with a mountain of pillows forcing me upright. I blinked a few times as the realization that I was living in the past, in 1878, dawned on me. I shook my head in amazement, glancing around the room and was struck with familiarity—the angles of the beams, the wood burning fireplace and marble mantel. I marveled at the view outside my window of a grove of elm trees pierced by a flowing stream and realized I was in my own room at Pelham Manor except now it was one hundred thirty-three years earlier.

  “Miss?” Mercedes’s soft voice grabbed my attention and I turned to find her sitting right beside my bed with a book in her hand. After marking her place with a blue ribbon, she thoughtfully closed the cover and placed it back on her lap.

  “How is this possible?” I asked aloud, more to myself than to Mercedes. “Maybe I really have lost my mind.”

  Mercedes shook her head. “No, miss, you are quite well.”

  Then the strange words Mercedes had uttered when we’d first met in the snow and she’d hoisted me over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes revisited me. Hmm, apparently there was more to Mercedes than met the eye. “What did you mean when you said you’d been expecting me?”

  She didn’t seem concerned as she fiddled with the satin of her ribbon bookmark before meeting my gaze again. “I have been expecting you, Jolie. But I do not want to start that conversation just yet. You have come a long way and nearly met your end. You must rest.”

  Her tone was different now—none of that servant vs. employer stuff. She was much more matter-of-fact. And her words did nothing to dispel my disquietude. “But I need to know …”

  She stood up and patted me on the head like I was a favored dog. “All in good time. For now, just rest.”

  And as if obeying her order, my body suddenly felt like it was sinking into the quicksand of exhaustion. My eyes drooped heavily and it was a battle to keep them open. I couldn’t fight the battle any longer and succumbed.

  When I came to, there was a new visitor in my room. She wasn’t dressed in the dowdy attire of Mercedes or of Elsie. Instead, she wore a red and green velvet dress fringed in white lace around her décolletage and along the bottom of her sleeves. She was probably in her early twenties and in her beautiful dress, looked like something right out of a museum.

  She sat in a chair just beside my bed and smiled at me warmly, her skirts so massive, I couldn’t figure out how she was able to fit into the chair, let alone comfortably. Her hair was pulled back at the sides with a great show of light brown ringlets at the top and bangs bisecting her forehead, which only drew attention to her green eyes, high cheekbones, and lovely face.

  “Hello, miss,” she started, somewhat shyly.

  “Hi,” I said, rubbing my head as the throbbing between my eyes started again. Maybe time traveling was hard on the body. Hmm, well now would be a good time to decipher if my witch abilities were still with me. I focused on the pain and imagined it fading away into nothing and bam, my magic complied. Thank freaking God!

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked in a soft German accent.

  Her German pronunciation threw me for a second or two but I dismissed it and turned to responding to her question. Was I feeling better? Yeah, a damn lot better now that I realized I possessed my magic. Course, I was still stuck in 1878 with no idea how the hell to get back to my own time. So all in all, I wasn’t much better.

  “I’m okay,” I said softly, feeling the threat of tears.

  “Miss Berg said you nearly expired.”

  I nodded. “I’m so lucky she found me. Are you …” I started, when I suddenly realized I could persuade this girl to answer any questions I had. While it might sound less than honest, I needed information and I didn’t have any alternatives to get it.

  I focused on her eyes and imagined a cloud of energy surrounding her, washing her mind and priming it for the invasion of my questions. A few seconds later, her gaze was blank, her big green eyes resting on the foot of my bed. “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I am Christine Trum Pelham, the lady of the house. My brother, William, is master of Pelham Manor.”

  “And Rand?”

  “Mr. Balfour is our guest. We usually reside in London but William’s health has been poor of late and Mr. Hodgins, our doctor, who is really a lovely man, advised William to live in the country.” She took a deep breath and I wasn’t sure how she’d managed all that on the one breath she’d just taken. My head was still spinning. Pelham had a sister and more so, she was German?

  “How are you German if Pelham is English?”

  She swallowed. “Our father, rest his soul, upon his travels was indiscriminate and I was born out of wedlock. Once our father passed and William’s mother had passed long before, William arranged for me to live with him.”

  What a good brother. “How long ago was this?”

  Christine appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps ten years.”

  “How long will you and your brother stay out here, in the country?” The last thing I wanted was to be relocated. Well, that is if Rand and Pelham weren’t already making arrangements for me elsewhere. What were the parameters on finding someone in the snow in 1878?

  “This has become our permanent residence; Mr. Hodgins’s orders.”

  I nodded, pleased to hear it. Living in Pelham Manor, even it if was over a hundred years in the past, consoled me. At least I had something that was familiar. “And will Rand stay with you?”

  “Yes, he has become our constant guest as he looks after my brother. Mr. Balfour is more family than friend.”

  So Pelham’s health was failing. I knew he died from cholera but how far he was into the disease was anyone’s guess. He couldn’t have been too far into it though, because cholera was a quick killer.

  The charm started to fade so I surrounded Christine with a burst of blue light, mentally reciting the words: Christine, you and I are good friends. You must do everything you can to see that I remain in Pelham Manor, no matter if Rand or your brother wants to send me away.

  It probably wasn’t a bad idea to persuade Pelham as well. Better to safeguard my chances of remaining in my haven that was this ho
use. I didn’t expect I could influence Rand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I offered, trying to probe Christine out of her zombie like stupor. “I’m Jolie Wilkins.”

  “What a lovely name!” Christine beamed, seemingly not having missed a beat. “And you, miss, you are an American?” She looked hopeful and it suddenly dawned on me that she was stuck out here in the remote country, uprooted from what had to have been a lavish lifestyle in London. Now the only people to keep her company were Rand, her brother, and the house staff. And the lady of the house would not have kept company with the house staff.

  “Yes,” I answered, wondering how much information I should divulge.

  “What state …” Christine started, hints of her German roots sliding in and out of her accent.

  Was California even a state back then? Duh, of course it was. “California.”

  Christine beamed. “Gold mining, wunderbar!” I knew enough from high school German to know “wunderbar” meant “wonderful.” She clapped her hands together as if today was her lucky day. “We are a long way from California! How did you arrive here, freezing in the snow?”

  Hmm … good question. I was battling some vampires, weres, an evil witch, and had just been introduced to demons. Yeah, maybe not. “I don’t know.”

  “You have lost your memory!” She exclaimed and I could see the excitement building in her eyes. This could be her very own mystery to unravel, an actual living, breathing mystery. Like playing Clue in 3D.

  “Miss?” It was Elsie. She popped her head into my room and focused on Christine.

  “Yes, Elsie?” Christine responded in a friendly manner.

  “Master Pelham is callin’ for ye.”

  Christine stood up and gave me a huge smile. “I will return momentarily.” She started for the door but seemed to remember something and turned to face me again. “Please do not worry, Miss Wilkins; we will find out how to get you home again.”

  I just smiled, watching her sashay through the door, a mass of velvet skirts, flat in the front and drawn up like a Christmas bow in the back. After a few minutes, I threw off the bedclothes and stood up, noticing I was now clad in long underwear. I plodded over to the chair, grabbed the drab dress Elsie had leant me and struggled to pull it over my head, yanking the scratchy, miserable fabric until it was in place. Realizing I couldn’t do up the back without the help of magic (and I was trying to be inconspicuous), I craned my neck out the door and eyed Elsie.

  “Elsie!” I whispered, trying not to alert the whole house. “Can you help me with my buttons?”

  “Aye,” Elsie muttered and took her sweet ass time walking down the hall. Once she entered my room, I turned my back and she started on my buttons.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Feeling her fingers on the last button at the nape of my neck, I turned around, offered her a quick smile and approached the door. I had to find Rand. Of all the people I needed to talk to, he was at the top of my list. In 1878 he would have been thirty-five and hopefully well into his warlock training. I could only hope so because I needed him to help me get back to my own time. I crossed my fingers, hoping and praying that Rand was at least aware of the fact that he was a witch and would be willing to help me.

  “Miss, ye shouldn’t be traipsin’ around. Ye should be in bed,” Elsie admonished.

  I continued out of the doorway and down the hall, calling over my shoulder “I feel great.”

  Without waiting for Elsie’s response, I hurried to the library which was empty. Dammit! I continued down the corridor, heading for the stairs when I heard voices downstairs. I followed the voices and found myself in an entryway of a living room, complete with a piano and floor to ceiling windows that revealed the icy coldness of winter at Pelham Manor. An enormous Christmas tree dominated one corner of the room, its glass ornaments reflecting the burning glow of a hearth-side fire. I could see Rand reading a newspaper on the settee beside the fire, so I entered.

  He glanced up with little or no excitement. Granted, he probably thought I was nuts. Despite his ennui, I was more than elated to see him. My heart raced and I nearly melted when I gazed into his warm brown eyes. And even though I’m not into facial hair, his neatly trimmed moustache actually suited him.

  He was the only one in the room, but from the voices I’d heard earlier, someone must have just left. Realizing my opportunity and knowing I had little time, I decided to inform him of my plight immediately.

  But where to start? “Um, hi.”

  Rand dropped the newspaper into his lap and regarded me with indifference, or maybe more irritation than indifference. “Good afternoon.”

  “I really need to speak with you, Rand.”

  He folded the newspaper and stood up, warming his hands by the fire. He seemed perturbed. “How is it that you know who I am and I haven’t the foggiest notion of who you are?”

  Well, crap, that wasn’t an easy answer. “Because … you know me very well; you just don’t know it yet.”

  He laughed but there was nothing happy about the sound, it was more biting and acerbic than anything else. “What are you after? Pelham’s fortune, perhaps mine?” Then he seemed to lose his composure and rushed me in an instant, his face only inches from mine. “Let me warn you not to attempt to blackmail me. I do not know why you’re here but I will not stop until you are out of Pelham’s home and back to whatever place you came from.”

  Well, I guess we had that in common. But as to blackmailing him or extorting money from him, that was the last thing on my mind. “I’m not interested in your money or anyone else’s,” I said firmly.

  “Then what, pray tell, are you interested in?”

  “I need your help.”

  He cocked a brow. “My help?”

  “Yes, you sent me here from the future so you’ve got to send me back.” There, I’d said it.

  He hesitated before allowing his laugh to echo through the room. “The future, you say?”

  “Yes,” I answered, unable to share his humor. Shouldn’t a warlock be a bit more understanding of these things? Maybe he wasn’t a warlock yet? That could be a big problem. “Are you in training yet, Rand?”

  He shook his head at my apparent lunacy. “In training for what?”

  “Becoming a witch.”

  And the smile was wiped clean off his face. His expression became as unreadable as a blank piece of paper and I had my answer. He was a warlock, after all. This was the response of someone who was floored. Hmm, now I didn’t seem quite as crazy, did I?

  “H … how … what would make you say such a ludicrous thing?” he stammered, crimson overtaking his cheeks.

  I had him. “Because, as I told you earlier, you and I know one another and as you are a warlock, I’m a witch.”

  He glanced around the room, appearing worried about eavesdroppers. “Such preposterous allegations do not put you in my favor.”

  “You can deny them all you want, Rand, but I know the truth and I need you to help me return to my own time.”

  Then it suddenly occurred to me that if I were returned to my own time, did that mean I’d last for maybe a second before Gwynn shish-kabobbed me on her blade? Hmm, I’d have to make provisions for a little extra time once Rand sent me back; that way I’d be prepared for the bitch.

  Rand was spared the chance to respond when Christine sauntered through the doorway, giving me an askance expression only to clap her hands together in a great display of glee. “Oh, dear! Miss Wilkins, I mistook you for the maid for a moment. That frock will not do at all!”

  “It’s really fine, Christine.” Both she and Rand glanced at me quizzically and I realized my mistake. “Er, Miss Pelham.”

  She picked at my offensive garment as if it were the very definition of filth and then stepped back, measuring me with one eye. “I believe you will fit into my gowns quite nicely.”

  “Really,” I started but Rand beat me to it.

  “Christine, I would not …”

  Christine waved away
our concerns. She’d made up her mind—I was going to be her living Barbie Doll. “Miss Wilkins is my friend, and as such, she should be dressed as a lady. Come, Miss Wilkins,” she said and offered her hand.

  What choice did I have? I took her hand and followed her through the hallway to the bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway from mine. It was bedecked in silk wall coverings with a large canopy bed covered in an elegant velvet quilt. She went to the armoire and opened the doors, revealing rows of wools, velvets, and silks.

  She glanced back at me and with one eye closed, seemed to be studying me. “With your lovely blue eyes, I believe my blue organdy would be most appropriate.” She pulled out the chosen gown and handed it to me. I accepted it, noting it felt like it weighed twenty pounds, and waited while she called for Elsie.

  The disgruntled maid arrived momentarily and her frown deepened as soon as she eyed me with Christine’s beautiful gown in my hands.

  “Elsie, we need to change Miss Wilkins out of your frock,” Christine said while she rummaged through her wardrobe, extracting a white undershirt and long lace-trimmed muslin capris, followed by something I was less than enthusiastic about.

  “A corset?” I asked, eyeing it dubiously.

  “Of course, Miss Wilkins,” Christine started.

  “Please, call me Jolie,” I said.

  “Then you must call me Christine,” she said with a bright smile, as if we’d just become the best of friends. Well, a friend was exactly what I needed.

  Elsie had already begun unbuttoning me and once I was free of her itchy dress, she reached for my underclothes but I grabbed her hands. “Can’t I just keep these?”

  Elsie frowned. “I haven’t many, miss.”

  Christine dispelled Elsie’s concerns as she handed her a pile of white undergarments. “You can keep mine, Elsie.”

  Elsie’s smile broadened. “Oh, thank ye, Miss Pelham. That is very kind o’ ye.” Elsie wrapped the corset around my middle and started to lace it up. “Hold the bed rails,” she ordered curtly.

  With my hands locked around the canopy post, she yanked on the laces so brusquely, I let out a yelp. Christine giggled while Elsie continued to tug on the laces, cinching my waist until I couldn’t breathe.