Belmary House 6

by Cassidy Cayman

  “What is going on?” Emma finally wailed, breaking their tense silence. “How is this possible?”

  “Something changed,” he said stupidly. It was all he had.

  “But how does one building become another building overnight?”

  Ariana turned and shook her head. “It wasn’t overnight, though, was it? It was two hundred years or more.”

  “We need to see if there’s a record, a new record of the most recent earl,” Dexter said. The very thought of doing research, a possible answer to this impossible situation they were in, soothed him a little.

  “You do that all you want,” Ariana said. She had stopped trembling and stuck her leg out of the car door. “I’m going back to as close as I can get to when I left and find my parents. I’ll go by the wall. That’s the same, you said so yourself.”

  “But there are houses on the other side and this lot is getting busier by the second,” Emma argued. “And you shouldn’t be racing off without any information.” She scowled. “That’s probably how this whole mess started.”

  “Exactly!” Ariana cried. “This is my doing. It has to be. So I have to fix it.”

  “How can you fix something when you have no idea what it is or how it’s been broken?”

  “I have to do something.”

  “She’s right,” Dexter said, stunning them both. “You should go back. As far back as you can, to ensure the house is still standing at that time. And then stay put. Tell your parents everything. Every damn thing. I don’t care if they skin you alive.” He paused, weighing his options. Hating those options. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” both Emma and Ariana shouted at the same time.

  “You can’t,” Emma continued, hugging herself. He could see the absolute terror in her eyes. He felt quite the same.

  “No, you can’t,” Ariana said. “I don’t need you to. Didn’t you tell me only a little while ago I needed to act like an adult? And what if I can’t get you back to this time?” She smirked at what must have been a very alarming face he pulled.

  “We’ll go with you to the wall and keep a lookout,” Emma said, giving him a look that dared him to keep on with his nonsensical idea to try and time travel again.

  Dexter sighed. He felt like the worst coward, the worst cousin, the worst person in the world letting Tilly’s teenage daughter go off on her own to God only knew what. He opened his mouth to give one last argument but Ariana’s steely glare stopped him. She might have only been seventeen but she’d always been clever, if not wise. And seventeen in her time was as good as an adult. But yet…

  He opened his mouth again, trying to think of an authoritative way to tell her to quit arguing.

  “If you go back with me and you get trapped, what will become of Emma and Dahlia?”

  “And the baby,” Emma whispered from the back seat.

  Ariana heard her and her eyes widened. “You’re with child? But that’s wonderful.” Her diamond hard glare softened somewhat. “If you risked never seeing your unborn child, my mother would murder you.”

  “That’s settled then,” Emma said. “You couldn’t possibly make me search every historical text and old graveyard trying to find evidence of your murder in the nineteenth century, could you?”

  “He couldn’t,” Ariana said, stepping out of the car.

  Dexter’s eyes filled with tears and he and Emma scrambled after her. They wound their way through the other cars and walked along the wall until they found a spot that was behind the mall and somewhat hidden from view of the neighborhood.

  “How will I know what happened?” he asked as Ariana pulled a cloth bag from a hidden pocket in her gown. She tipped out a small vial of powder, some dried leaves and a tiny, pearl handled knife.

  “I’ll try and find a way to let you know something,” she said. She stopped messing with the items from the bag and stared blankly at the wall. “I— I might have to come back if… no, never mind that.”

  “Yes, never mind that,” Dexter said quickly, before his already churning stomach could turn completely over. He wrapped her in a hug. Emma joined in, sniffling.

  “Best stand back a bit,” Ariana suggested. “Pray there isn’t a tree growing here when I get back. Or that I don’t land on a gardener. Or… well. I’m sorry for upending your lives, but I’m awfully glad I got to see you again, Cousin Dexter. And it was a pleasure meeting you and Dahlia, Emma.”

  Dexter couldn’t speak, only squeezed her tighter before he and Emma stepped away. They got about ten feet, but Ariana shooed them further. Her hands flew over the ground and as he backed up, his own hand in Emma’s vice-like grip, he saw her mouth moving. She whipped the tiny knife across the tip of her finger and glanced up at them, a tremulous smile on her face. He raised his hand to wave, but she was already gone.

  Chapter 14

  Owen finally recognized where he was in London. After a far too long journey— he’d really hoped his unruly powers might have helped them out a little in that respect— they’d finally reached Maria and Ariana’s area of the bustling, crowded town. He longed to find her and drag her back to Scotland with him and Maria. He was sick to death of crowds. He wanted to spread his arms wide and run in great circles with no fear of anyone seeing him, let alone accidentally whacking someone.

  Maria stopped short in front of a shop, causing him to run into a snooty lady with a massive, feathered hat. Her hat tilted precariously as she gave him a dirty look while he apologized yet again for being in someone’s way. He was about to hustle Maria along when he noticed how wistfully she gazed at the books lined up in the brightly lit window.

  “I do love to read,” she sighed.

  It was the first he’d heard any hint of emotion in her voice the entire journey back to England. He figured she had put up her barrier to keep people from trying to speak to her on the ship, and indeed, everyone had shied away from them. But now she was back to being as chatty as she’d been when they first got booted out of the Povest village.

  “Really?” he asked.

  He couldn’t remember Maria ever mentioning a single book in all their endless conversations. She’d been enamored of the spell book, eager to learn that, but had never been ruthlessly hungry for knowledge in the annoying way that Ariana had. He was always glad of that because he hated reading. He was sure if she loved it the way Ariana did, she never would have fallen in love with him and might have thought of it as a shortcoming like his teachers always did.

  She closed her eyes as if endlessly exhausted, which should have made sense since he never saw her sleep. However, she was only annoyed at his question. “Not her. Me.” She leaned close enough to the glass to leave a nose mark. “It’s been so long.”

  Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out what was left of their money. It wasn’t much, but they were only blocks from Belmary House. A few blocks more from Maria’s home. They wouldn’t need an inn or money for food tonight. He felt himself relaxing all the way to his bones at the thought of seeing Ariana, his mother and father. He vowed to be honest from this point forward, tell them about his shameful expulsion from the family, and beg for help however they would give it. He understood more now about why his father hated magic so much, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his father did not hate him. Could never hate him or turn his back on him. Soon he’d have a grip on the reins of the runaway horse that was his magical heritage.

  “Why not get yourself a book,” he suggested, holding out the coins.

  She gave him such a look of joy he felt his face heat up and his heart felt similarly warm. He knew this wasn’t Maria, not really. But whoever or whatever was underneath had helped him so far, however clumsily. He wanted to keep that look of happiness there, instead of the faraway glistening stare.

  “It will be everything we have left,” she said, never taking her eyes off the books.

  “We’ll be at Ariana’s in a few minutes.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Uncle Julian won’t let us go hungry.” He blinked
at that and a mottled blush stole up her neck. For a heart-rending second he thought Maria might be back. When they had become secretly and giddily betrothed, perhaps she’d started to think of his family as her own. She turned to him and he knew in an instant it wasn’t true. “Lord Ashford,” she corrected herself with a shrug.

  “Go ahead, then,” he said, trying not to sound bereft. “It’s clear you want to.”

  Her hand shook as she took the money and he followed as she plowed her way through the shop, picking up each volume and studying it as if the choice were the most important thing in the world. Past the lofty, leather-bound tomes, all the way to the back wall, she finally stopped at a row of illustrated children’s books. She stared at them so long he started to doze off, then she turned on her heel and headed back toward the front. Grabbing up a cheap adventure novel, she paid and hurried out the door.

  By the time he caught up with her, she had the book open, already reading it as she walked with purpose in the direction of Belmary House. He took her elbow to keep her from tripping or running into someone, but he had a feeling it was wholly unnecessary. If Maria was in there somewhere, it was deep, deep down. She certainly wasn’t in charge right now. He watched her turn the pages, her eyes darting back and forth as they ate up the words.

  A couple blocks from the house, he started to drag his feet, making Maria slow her pace as well. She either didn’t notice or care, lost in her story. He was a bit envious, but he had no such means of escape.

  Should he go in through the front door? That would mean facing either the housekeeper or the butler, and while the servants doted on Ariana and her brothers and had never been unkind to him, he didn’t want to be announced like a guest. He also wanted to speak to Ariana and get caught up on what had happened in the time he’d been gone before he faced his parents. And how was he supposed to explain Maria? Surely all of London was going mad looking for her. They were in a part of town where everyone should recognize her, especially if it had come out that she’d gone missing. For the first time he was grateful for her creepy ability to make herself go unnoticed.

  His vow to be honest shrank away the closer he got to actually having to admit everything. No, he needed to speak to Ariana first so she could help him explain without making a muddle of things as he so often seemed to do. Thinking about how close he was to seeing her again made him relax somewhat. She would make everything better. He was well past believing anything could actually be completely fixed, but he’d take better. He wished he’d never stormed off to Moldavia, never left her behind in the first place. But if he was wishing to change things, he had to admit he needed to go back quite a bit further than that. He shook his head and sighed. It wasn’t worth thinking about.

  Maria stopped and closed her book, grabbing his elbow so he would stop his urgent pace toward Belmary House.

  “Finished already?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated at the delay.

  She blinked slowly and looked down at the book in her hands as if she only just realized it was there. “No, I’m saving some for the trip home.”

  Home. She meant Scotland. He’d almost forgotten they still had to get all the way back up there. Exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him and all he could think about was the plush, safe room he was so close to. Family, friends, sleep. He swayed on his feet before focusing on her increasingly stormy look.

  “Can’t you let her out yet?” he asked, hoping to forgo the long trip up north altogether.

  “She’s not ready,” was the stubborn reply. The same reply he’d been getting since they left the Povest village.

  “Are you being honest? Or do you just want to get to Scotland to remember your name?”

  She narrowed those glittering eyes at him. “I don’t tell lies.” He flinched. That was a low blow. Or a deserved one. “We’re going to Scotland.” She tucked the book under her arm and glared at him until he looked away.

  “Fine. Let’s find Ariana and sort my nonsense out, then we’ll sort yours.”

  She looked up and swiveled her head like a dog scenting the air. “Something’s wrong.”

  “You’ve only now figured that out?” he asked sarcastically.

  Without answering, she made a beeline in the opposite direction of where they were heading. He was too tired to argue and hurried to keep up. They headed behind the wooded park that backed up to Belmary House. It was surrounded by an ivy-choked stone wall. He thought the land belonged to the Alexanders, and knew people hunted on it sometimes. As small children, he and Ariana had occasionally gone adventuring in the woods, but it was a tame substitute to the wilds of his own home.

  He followed her as she scrambled nimbly over the wall, through the trees and brambles, realizing she was leading them up to the back of the house. When they reached the wall again, she stopped and frowned.

  “Do you smell that?”

  He took a big sniff. Trees, something smoldering in the London air. “Smell what?”

  She gave him a disappointed eye roll and cocked her head to the side. “Listen.”

  He stamped his foot, fed up with her ambiguity. “What am I supposed to be smelling or hearing?” he demanded, smacking the wall and hurting his palm. God, he was tired.

  “Owen?” A tearful voice came from the other side of the wall. He’d know that voice anywhere. Had been longing to hear it again for days.

  He flung himself at the wall, hoisting himself to the top with one last burst of strength. It instantly faded at what faced him on the other side. Ariana jumped up and grabbed his hands.

  “It is you. Oh, thank goodness you’re back.” She dropped his hands, sat down at the foot of the wall and sobbed.

  He felt like doing the same, unable to keep his eyes from darting left and right. It was all gone. He knew what he was supposed to be smelling now. What he thought was typical London’s bad, burning smell was the charred remains of Belmary House. He recognized the wall he still clung to, the small fruit orchard which had miraculously survived. But where the house had been was now a massive expanse of blackened rubble, piles of sooty bricks and stones, the odd plank of wood eerily standing up here and there like grave markers.

  His heart seized and he dropped to the other side to grab Ariana’s shoulder. “My mum and dad,” he choked. “Your mum and dad. The boys…”

  “They’re gone.” Her eyes widened at his stricken look and she wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I mean, gone to Scotland. They’re alive, Owen. Please breathe.”

  She whacked him on the back and he took a great, gasping breath. For a moment he couldn’t see or hear, then it all came whooshing back. His family was alive. The house was gone but his family was alive. A hundred questions crammed up his throat.

  “What happened?” was all he could manage. He fished a crumpled handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  She wiped her face and shrugged, a small, sad movement. “I only arrived a few hours ago. I found Cook at her daughter’s house— none of the staff were in the house, they’re all fine. It— it burned down.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at what was left of her home.

  “Arrived?” He latched onto the one part of her explanation that made the least sense. “Where were you when it happened?”

  This induced another bout of sobs and she shook her head back and forth as if trying to make something go away.

  “I left right after you did. To— to my other time.”

  To that man she fancied was her soulmate. He scowled, momentarily distracted from the horror that surrounded them. For a split second he recalled Maria saying with absolute certainty that he wasn’t her soulmate, though. This gave him a perverse sense of comfort, but only for a second.

  “Maria!” Ariana squawked, clutching her heart. “Where did you come from?” Maria had come over the wall without either of them noticing and now stood a few feet away, poking at a pile of rubble with her toe. “Where did she come from?” she hissed in a lower tone at him.

  “Aye, she does that,�
� he said. “It can be a bit shocking, but it was useful on the passage back.”

  “Passage back? She went with you? All the way to Moldavia?”

  He almost laughed at her scandalized expression. At least it had wiped away the grief. “I’m surprised she hasn’t been reported missing. All of London should be looking for her.”

  “Maybe they are,” she said, irritated now. God, he’d missed her. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and squeeze her tight but was afraid she’d smack him in her current state. “I told you, I’ve only been back myself a few hours.”

  He watched Maria poking around and stood up. He reached for Ariana’s hand and pulled her to her feet, leading her toward the sooty lemon trees. He remembered Ariana’s brothers having a lemon war out here, back when all was right with the world. It was such a short time ago but seemed like a lifetime. When they were a reasonable distance away, he cleared his throat.

  “That’s not really Maria,” he whispered, closing his eyes against whatever face Ariana would make at that revelation. Of course, being Ariana, she knew him well enough to wait until he opened them again to reply.

  Her brow was raised, but she didn’t look as shocked as he thought she would. “Of course it is,” she said. He knew she was about to go on a tirade about how he shouldn’t be playing around at such a time so he held up his hand to nip it in the bud.

  “It’s not. We didn’t run away together or elope or anything like that. She was waiting for me when I got to my cousin’s village. They wouldn’t let her in their houses. Look at her, Riri. Really look at her.”

  Ariana swept her gaze over Maria, who had a stick now, and was furiously digging away at a clump of melted metal and singed wood. He watched Ariana take in the lank, matted hair, the skeletal frame, the grubby gown. Maria turned and looked at them, parting her lips in what now passed as her smile. Even from the distance they were from her, the vacant gleam in her eyes sparked in the dim afternoon light. Ariana gasped.

  “Has she gone mad? Did we do that to her?” she whispered, pulling him further away.