Darby's Angel

by Marcy Stewart

  “I ... tell him?” Lenora pressed shaking fingers over her mouth.

  Darby rejoiced to see approval shine in Simon’s eyes. “It will be easier coming from you,” he said.

  Lenora’s gaze wandered blankly around the room. “Very well, I shall. But give me a little time, will you?”

  “I see no purpose in delaying,” Darby said.

  “A little time,” Simon said decisively. “Not a lot. Soon.”

  “I will,” Lenora said, then glided to the door. “I want you to know, Darby, that I truly love your brother. At first, he seemed like a child to me; but now I’ve come to appreciate his many good qualities; especially since he’s shown interest in the school. I’ve learned he’s a gentle man and capable of deep affection and loyalty. Those traits are remarkably important to me. And though he is short-tempered at times, it’s in a way entirely different from Reece.”

  “You need not describe his character to me,” Darby said in irritation.

  “I know. I only wanted to convey to you how highly I esteem him, and that if he returns my regard in the way I think he might, I will make the most loyal of wives. You need not fear I would ever betray my marriage vows. That is behind me.”

  Darby swelled with vexation. “And I wish to convey to you that Evelyn Wallace has been promised—in a manner of speaking—to Alex since we were babes. Evelyn would make a loyal wife, too, as well as a chaste one with an unblemished character.”

  Lenora winced. “Your aim is true, Darby, and you know precisely where to strike. But would you consign your brother to a loveless marriage simply because it appears more socially acceptable? For I’ll tell you this, if you do not already realize it: Alexander does not love Evelyn; he loves me.”

  “You think so now,” Darby said, her voice quivering. “But speak to me later, after you have talked with him about your past. You may discover another trait that I well know. Alex is not very forgiving.”

  “And neither are you,” Lenora whispered, opening the door and entering the hall. “Good night, Simon.”

  “Good night, Lenora,” he said.

  Darby waited a moment, then went to the door and peered out. Seeing no sign of the widow other than smelling the scent of lavender, she closed the door and returned to Simon. “Do you really believe her story?”

  Simon did not answer but looked so forbidding that her excitement drained away. She knew instantly the source of his anger, and this time she vowed he would not make speeches about how much higher his opinions were than her own, even if he was from heaven.

  “I only want the best for my brother. If that person proves to be Lenora, then so be it. If he is willing to accept her after she tells him the truth, I will; I’ll not so much as present an argument against her. But he must have all the facts first.”

  Simon’s face relaxed. “Really? That’s how you feel?”

  “She would not be my choice, mind, but if Alex chooses her ... yes. That’s how I feel.” Even if it killed her. Her angel had changed her that much.

  “Well.” He sat on the bed and crossed a leg over his knee. “I’m impressed. There’s hope for you yet.”

  “I’m glad to hear you think so.” She debated voicing her newest suspicion, knowing it might kindle his ire anew. In a rush, she said, “Simon, do you think Lenora might have murdered Reece in revenge for killing her baby?”

  “Do I think she killed Reece? No, no, and no. Once again I ask you to look at her and tell me how such a tiny woman could throw a man off a balcony.”

  “I grow weary of hearing how petite she is!”

  Simon laughed. She was gratified to see his good humour returning, but hers had flown out the window. “Also,” he said, “in spite of what you think, I don’t believe Lenora is the type to murder anyone. Heathershaw, now, is another story. She said they often traveled together. Was he there when it happened?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice full of doubt. “But Claude was taking a walk when Reece died.”

  “Did anyone see him?”

  “Well, no ... but Claude is not the murdering type, as you call it, either.”

  “You think that because he flatters you constantly.”

  Her heart leaped in delight. He was jealous! “But why would Claude murder Reece?”

  “Maybe he desired Lenora for himself.”

  “If that was what he wished, he wasn’t very successful. And now he gives every appearance of wanting me.”

  Simon’s eyes darkened. After a moment, he said, “Who wouldn’t?”

  Darby stared at her slippers. “Well, Edward for one.” She said it reluctantly, though in truth she had waited all this time for a chance to confess it to him. “Not after I refused him this evening.”

  “You saw—” His voice rang unexpectedly loud, and he modulated it quickly. “You saw Edward tonight?”

  “Yes, he threw rocks at my window, and I told him I could not marry him. Please forgive me, Simon; I know you said I should, but I simply cannot. It wouldn’t be fair to Edward since I love him only as a friend. Are you angry? Your suggestion that I wed him was merely that, wasn’t it—a suggestion? God did not command it?”

  “No,” he said, his lips quirking alarmingly, “it was just an idea of mine. How did Edward take your refusal?”

  “Badly, I’m afraid. He refused to come to dinner Saturday night or to attend the ball. I have never seen him so angry.”

  She was surprised when he looked disturbed, and even more so when he clutched her into the embrace she never expected to feel. Moments before she’d fought envy that Lenora rested here, and now, now it was herself who gloried within his arms.

  Yet, though her temples pounded at the warmth that poured through her body at his touch, there was little romance to be felt; the embrace spoke too much of protection, of desperation, for that. But she cared little—she could dwell happily here forever, no matter what strange emotions wavered through his skin.

  He loosened his arms for an instant, then gripped her fiercely again. Her smile was pressed against his robe like a butterfly beneath glass. She did not care if he flattened her into a plate. “Darby,” he whispered into the hair at the top of her head, “I have something very strange to request of you, and you mustn’t ask questions about it. All right?”

  If she opened her mouth, she would be forced to taste his robe, so she merely nodded against his chest. Please say you have chosen to be an angel no longer, and that you want to marry me, she begged silently. Would God allow such a thing? It didn’t seem likely.

  Simon drew in a swift breath, then held her at arm’s length. “Promise me that you will not, under any circumstances, visit the pond. Especially not on your birthday. I intend to be around so that you don’t; but in case anything happens to separate us, you’ll remember, won’t you?”

  Darby nodded, wide-eyed as a little girl agreeing to keep a friend’s secret. She was too astonished and numb to feel disappointment at his unexpected demand.

  “Good,” he said, his eyes filling with sadness again.

  They exchanged lingering glances, the air between them crackling with words that ached to be born. When she could bear it no longer, Darby took her leave. After he closed the door, her feet remained planted in the carpet outside his room. Finally, when her toes began to fall asleep, she turned and stumbled off to bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simon waited on the other side of his door until he heard Darby move away, then removed his robe and threw it over the bedpost. After piling one pillow atop another, he climbed into bed and leaned against the soft stack. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he pulled the covers to his chest anyway. He had some serious thinking to do.

  If he were home, he’d flip on a late-night talk show. But there was a lot to be said for a candlelit room so quiet he could hear the dust fall. There was a lot to be said about this whole time period in general. But was it enough?

  Over the past weeks, the sorrow of losing Tay and Elena had not faded, but the sharpest
pains of loss had softened. All of that was due to Darby and his growing sense of usefulness in her world. To return to his former life, whether the original timeline when he was famous or the newer one where he struggled—or something else entirely—filled him with dread. There was no one, no ambition or possession, that called him back. Only emptiness.

  Could he leave his century, his world, his career, his life, for the love of a woman? Especially for a woman like Darby, who was as exasperating as she was exhilarating?

  But if he returned, how could he live knowing he’d left her? He loved everything about Darby: her idealism; her innocent faith (even in her angel, though he’d let her down again and again); her adorable jealousies and lack of pretense; her fierce loyalty to those she loved; the way her eyes held his, tantalizing him with hidden passions but at the same time calling him to be better than he was.

  He liked himself when he was around her. She needed him; needed his rationality, even his sensitivity, to round the edges off her inflexible side. She made him forget his failures; somehow, she made him better.

  But was it enough? Could he turn his back on the twenty-first century and declare, “Here I stay?”

  He didn’t know.

  Maybe he could live in both worlds by remaining with Darby and making periodic visits to his time. But how many changes to history would then take effect? It would be on him, his responsibility. He knew very little about quantum theory, but he was aware of speculations suggesting time travel could cause parallel universes to spring into existence, each one accommodating the changes wrought by a time traveler. Who knew what dangers he brought to everyone and to time itself?

  It would be good to settle it, to end the escalating agony of the past weeks. Despite his interest in the school, he was in constant mourning over their coming separation.

  If only the pathway would let her go back with him. But that wasn’t fair, either; then she’d have to make all the sacrifices.

  First things first. He had to get her through her birthday alive, and the list of suspects was growing. First Lenora, then Edward, now Heathershaw.

  He was least suspicious of Lenora but knew better than to dismiss her entirely. As for Edward, it made him cold to imagine the boy’s anger at Darby’s rejection; the kid wouldn’t be the only thwarted boyfriend to think of murdering his girl. And Heathershaw; why was the man here, anyway? If Lenora wasn’t lying and really spurned his advances, why didn’t she throw him out? Was he blackmailing her because he knew something about Reece’s death? Had he helped Lenora kill him? Would Heathershaw try to murder Darby because she would discover something?

  Simon sighed wearily. He could lose his mind imagining the possibilities. Nothing must happen to her.

  * * *

  The days before her birthday passed in hurried confusion for Darby. The pottery had received a large order from London for Alex’s nurseryware, and she became busy supervising the increased production. Aunt Gacia, into whose hands she had given the direction of the ball, plagued her with constant questions over foods, entertainments, and changes in the invitation list. Also, Darby had commissioned a new dress for the event, and there were fittings to be endured.

  The school nagged at her thoughts frequently. The parents of the students were beginning to accept it, though a few still complained their children’s time would be better spent learning a trade. And while Alex had not precisely endorsed the school, he no longer voiced objections. That was Lenora’s doing, of course.

  Darby remained unsure as to her own opinion. Although she still believed the effort wasteful, she determined to wait and see before deciding. But before the three-week trial period ended, the events of one morning taught her where her loyalties lay.

  Uncle Richard entered her office holding an official-looking document, which he placed on her desk. “Look here, m’girl. The signatures of Mirren’s leading manufacturers, asking us to close the school.”

  “Oh?” She studied the paper coldly. “And what business is it of theirs what we do?”

  “Ha! More than you think. Seems their workers are threatening to quit unless they get classes for their brats, too.”

  She felt a smile coming. “Is that so?”

  Uncle Richard looked offended. “Don’t know why you think ‘tis amusing. Can’t fly against the wind of our fellows or we’ll lose business.”

  Standing dismissively, she said, “I don’t believe that will happen, but even if it does, I’ll not be told what to do in my own factory. Whatever Alex and I decide, it will be our decision, not theirs.”

  Uncle Richard glared. “Hope you won’t come to regret it.”

  After he left, Darby was too stirred to concentrate on the stack of purchase orders awaiting her. She seized the petition and went in search of Alexander.

  She was not surprised to find him in the classroom, but she was startled to see him helping Molly write her numbers. Simon and Lenora were also bent over students, and she felt a pang she did not entirely understand as she watched through the glass door.

  At her entrance, everyone looked up, making her feel oddly shy. When she saw looks of hope and eagerness on their faces, especially Simon’s and Alex’s, she felt even more strange. Their expressions reminded her of children beseeching an irrational parent for justice. She had often felt as they looked, asking Uncle Richard to update the pottery.

  She smiled uncomfortably and fixed her gaze on Alexander. When he joined her at the back of the room, she showed him the petition.

  “Of all the crack-jawed insolence,” he whispered. “I have a mind to continue the school if only to spite them.”

  “Do you? To say truth, I’d begun to think you had made up your mind already.”

  He looked toward the children guiltily. “If I had, how would you feel about it?”

  Indignation flared within her, then cooled. She spoke slowly, sorrow weighting her words. “That depends on why. Have you reached your opinion objectively, or because you want to please Lenora?”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” he replied haughtily.

  “Don’t put your nose in the air with me, “she said, then lowered her voice when several children turned to stare. “Has Lenora spoken with you about ... anything?”

  “She speaks with me all the time. Why? Did you mean something in particular?”

  Across the room, Lenora straightened, met Darby’s probing gaze, then looked from her to Alexander. Smiling, she bent over the child’s paper again.

  How long did the woman intend to wait?

  “No,” Darby said between her teeth. “Nothing ... in particular.”

  Alexander grinned. “Look. Why don’t you stay awhile? How can you be objective if you don’t know what goes on here?”

  She began to protest about the amount of work awaiting her, but when her eyes fell upon Simon, she changed her mind. Alexander led her to the table of the youngest children, where she heard one after another recite their letters and write. She was amazed at the varying levels of ability among them. One little girl knew her entire alphabet, while others still struggled. By the time Darby had seen the more advanced progress of the older children, she was impressed, and not only by the students. The compassion and patience with which Simon, Lenora and even Alex treated the youngsters took her breath away. Especially Simon. She had never loved him more than when watching him guide Clemmy’s hand after the boy failed tearfully in making one of his letters.

  She stayed for the greater part of an hour. As she left, the children waved and smiled goodbye. She returned their salutation in a friendly fashion, walked a few paces away from the door so they could not see her, then leaned against the wall. If she were not careful, the dreadful longing inside her would make her cry.

  Without real surprise, she saw Simon emerge from the classroom. “I’m glad you came,” he said, a strange, burning look in his eyes making her heart race. “What did you think?”

  “The children are learning well,” she said. “You and Lenora are fine
teachers. Even Alex is.”

  “Fine enough to continue the school?”

  She fastened her gaze on one of his vest buttons. “This is not a judgment to be made lightly. I still have a few days before making my final decision, do I not?”

  “Yes, but ... have you ever felt, Darby, that some things are so important that only one answer can be made? And that you have only to make it before realizing that every event, every feeling, has been leading up to that one, perfect decision?”

  Startled at the excitement she sensed in him, she looked up. “Are you—are you speaking of the school?”

  “I’m talking about any decision that involves your life and your heart and ... your soul.”

  “Simon.” She could not disguise the hope that surged into her voice. “One of the reasons I’m doubtful about continuing the school is that I don’t entirely trust Lenora to maintain her interest in it. If you, now, were to remain awhile longer ...”

  “That’s not totally impossible,” he said, his eyes glowing.

  “Simon!” Only an odd reticence on his part kept her from jumping into his arms. “I thought you had to return to—”

  “Shh. No more about this now. I have to tell you something, but not until after your birthday. Then, after we talk, if you still want me to stay, we’ll see.”

  “But there’s no reason to wait until then,” she said eagerly. “I have almost decided about the school anyway. In fact—”

  “No, Darby. After your birthday, okay?”

  She stared at him in frustration.

  “Okay, Darby?” he repeated.

  “Okay,” she answered, rolling the unfamiliar word off her tongue and not liking it at all, though it made him laugh to hear her say it.

  * * *

  From that point on, she was useless to all sensible thought. Did he mean to stay? But how could he? During the next days, her curiosity and hope drove her to try speaking with him privately on several occasions, but he avoided being alone with her. One evening she even attempted to visit him in his room again, but he did not answer her knock; and when she turned the knob, she found he’d locked the door.