She patted her stomach again. “Only a few more weeks, my darling, until you make your debut in the world.”
Catherine wasted no time finding her place in the book and began to read. In the story, Lucinda Downey followed the handsome Earl she was in love with to an unoccupied wing in the castle. She was as anxious as Lucinda to find out what terrifying secret he was hiding from her.
She was so engrossed in the story; she didn’t hear the chapel door open. Or the footsteps approach.
“Excuse me,” a female said in a soft voice. “I seem to have lost my way. Can you help me?”
Catherine looked up from her book in surprise. She regarded the stranger with curiosity. The hood of the royal blue cape slid back to reveal a young woman with long scarlet curls and green eyes. An iris blue velvet dress peeked from underneath the cape. She was the most beautiful woman Catherine had ever seen.
This lovely, beguiling woman could be my Lucinda, Catherine thought with amusement. She wondered what the young woman was doing there. In all the times she’d come to the chapel, she’d encountered only a handful of people. Occasionally, a funeral was held there.
“I’m sorry,” the female continued. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Catherine smiled and closed her book. “It’s fine. I was reading.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was getting to the scary part.” She held up her book. “I’m hooked on them.”
The other woman smiled back. “I don’t get much time to read.”
“What brings you out here? " Catherine asked. "Few people venture this far from town unless they are attending a funeral.”
“I was trying to get to a little town called Rigby. I’m to be the companion for a young girl there. The carriage I was traveling in went into a ditch and splintered one of the wheels a few miles back. The coachman directed me to this chapel to wait for him to return.”
“What is your name as it seems we will be here for a little while together.”
“Desiree Black.”
“Where are you from?”
“London, but I have no family there anymore. My mother died a few months ago. I thought a change of scenery would do me some good. She had a lingering illness that claimed her life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Catherine held out her hand. “I’m Catherine Tilney.”
Desiree shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
So, this is Catherine, Desiree thought as she stared at the woman sitting in the wooden pew. She traveled from another realm to find her. She looked very different than the actress in the movie with her fair skin and her bright blue eyes. Dark brown curls framed her face. She wore an antique rose-colored dress similar in style to hers. A dark cape hung over the pew in front of her, along with a dark fur muff.
This Catherine was older than the one in the movie. The book and the movie may have ended, but it didn’t mean the characters and their stories did. She came through the portal sometime after Jane Austen’s book ended. It was living, breathing fan fiction.
Desiree stiffened as her eyes traveled over Catherine and stopped. Oh shit, she thought. Catherine is pregnant. Very pregnant. Her heart pounded in her chest. Two souls. She’d get two pure souls instead of the one she planned on. She was elated and sick at the same time. Could she do what she came there to do?
“You’re pregnant,” she said out loud.
Catherine smiled and patted her very round belly. “Yes. Doctor Osborne says I should deliver right after Christmas.”
“Is it your first child?”
“Heaven’s no,” Catherine said. “My husband and I have two girls at home. We're hoping for a boy this time.”
“Sounds like you have a nice family.”
Catherine beamed. “I'm the luckiest woman in the world.”
Desiree sat down next to Catherine and had a nice, long chat. Catherine was more than willing to talk about her family and her happy life at Northanger Abbey.
Desiree had to create a life. She couldn’t tell Catherine she was a demon from Hell and the only life she had was serving Amadeus and Lucifer. Or if she couldn’t fulfill her duties, Oblivion was her future.
The clip clop sound of hooves could be heard beyond the chapel door. Desiree got up and went to the door to open it. It was Catherine’s driver. She knew that because no one was coming for her. There was no coachman or a position waiting for her in town. The portal deposited her in the cemetery. Once there, she sensed a human nearby and followed its essence to the chapel. She hadn’t expected to find Catherine Morland already.
“It’s your ride, Catherine.”
Catherine stood up slowly, holding onto the back of the pew in front of her for leverage. She bent carefully to the side to collect her things. “I hate leaving you here alone, but if I don’t go back now, my sister-in-law will come here herself to retrieve me.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. The coachman will be here soon.”
Catherine smiled. “I hope everything works out in Rigby.”
“Thank you.”
Catherine’s driver met her at the top of the steps and put his arm through hers.
“You must be careful, Mrs. Tilney. “There’s a new layer of snow and it’s quite slippery out here.”
“Thank you, Palmer. I appreciate you coming to get me.”
“Mistress Eleanor wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned.
Catherine laughed. “I know. She’s such a worry-wart.”
“With good reason. Your babe will be coming soon.”
“Not you too,” she scolded with a bit of amusement.
Desiree watched Catherine walk down the stone steps with the aid of her driver. If she wasn’t there to collect her soul, she thought she and Catherine could be friends. Not that she had the luxury of having friends. It was obvious Catherine Tilney was a kind, gentle person but what did it matter? She had to stop thinking of Catherine that way. If she didn’t, she would never be able to take her soul.
Besides, Desiree had Mathilda. Mathilda was the only person she spent time with. She was embarrassed to admit she only contacted her friend when she needed something. Mathilda didn’t seem to mind. She understood Desiree’s need to keep her distance.
She watched Catherine’s carriage roll down the dirt road and out of sight. She left the chapel and headed back to the cemetery to spend the night in one of the large mausoleums. Tomorrow, she would ‘accidently’ run into Catherine again at the chapel.
Desiree stopped in front of a mausoleum and looked up at the placard that hung above the wrought iron and wood door. Bingham. That one will do. She grasped the heavy padlock and pulled until it gave way. She threw it aside and opened the door. It smelled of age and must. No one had been in there for years. She picked a cool stone slab near the back of the mausoleum and lay down. It wasn’t comfortable, but she’d slept in worse places. Thinking of one of the Dracula movies she watched late night to unwind after her hunts, she grinned and crossed her arms over her chest before closing her eyes.
AFTER CATHERINE WARMED up from her trip to the chapel, she sat in the parlor with Eleanor enjoying a repast of rolls, cheese, and hot tea.
“Catherine, dear, you have to stop walking to that chapel every day. You’re too close to your time to be out on that dirt road by yourself,” Eleanor chided. “What if you go into labor? You’ll catch your death going out in this frigid weather.”
Catherine laughed. “You coddle me too much, Eleanor. I need to breathe the cold air and stretch my legs.”
“You can always stroll through the gardens and get the same effect.”
“You know how much I love going to the cemetery and the chapel to read. I did the same thing back home. My parents always knew where to find me.”
Eleanor sniffed. “You seem to prefer the dead to living, breathing people.”
“It’s not that,” Catherine countered. “Roaming through the cemetery is like being in one of my favorite books. It’s the mystery and intrigue that attracts me. I also
love being with you and my family.”
Eleanor’s lips curved into a smile. “I know that, Cathy. Have you ever thought about writing your own stories? I bet you’d be good at it.”
Catherine was silent as she considered her sister-in-law’s words. “I hadn’t thought about it, but the idea is appealing.” She rubbed her stomach. “I daresay I will be too busy very soon to pursue it.”
Eleanor pulled an envelope out of the pocket of her dress and waved it in front of her. "My brother sent me a note today. He says he’s bringing a gentleman he met in London home for the Christmas Ball. There is still so much to do with the ball only being a week and a half away.”
“Is that the only letter you received?” Catherine asked, disappointed that she didn’t get a letter too.
Eleanor laughed and pulled another letter out of her pocket. “Did you honestly think my brother would neglect the love of his life?” She handed the letter to her.
Catherine beamed when she saw her husband’s familiar handwriting. She opened it and began to read:
Dearest Catherine,
I hope my letter finds you and the babe well. I hate to leave you even for a day. I miss you so much. Good news. I will be concluding my business soon and will be home in a week. Kiss our girls and tell them I love them. I love you, Catherine. You are my heart, and you always will be.
Yours,
Henry
Tears formed in Catherine’s eyes at her husband’s loving words, but she forced them back. She got so emotional of late, partly due to her pregnancy but more so because of her love for her husband. She thanked God for the day Henry walked into her life. It was the greatest gift any woman could receive. He’d given her his name, a lovely home, two beautiful daughters, and a new babe on the way. Her happiness rivaled that of the heroines in her gothic novels. Henry, the man she loved with all her heart, was the hero in her story.
Chapter 5
RAYVEN LISTENED AS Henry Tilney recounted a story from his childhood while the two men drank a pitcher of ale. Henry had to shout over the boisterous conversations around them in the Foggy Bog Tavern. Not a table in the popular watering hole was empty.
He met the witty clergyman a few hours ago on a nearby street in London. Henry was a born storyteller. What struck him most was what a kind, decent man he was. His angel intuition never led him astray.
This assignment might not be so bad after all, Rayven thought.
In the beginning, Rayven had some serious misgivings about the unknown realm he was traveling to and the people he would meet there. It was the realm of books, and he had no idea how he would fit in. In the short time he’d been there, he found it was simpler than he thought. Yes, their ways of speaking, their clothes and their customs were different. But he quickly learned people were people, no matter what century or realm. It had been easy to adapt in the short time he’d been there. He transformed his jeans and tee-shirt into a royal blue coat over a white waistcoat, white muslin shirt, and black trousers with suspenders. He completed his ensemble with black leather boots and a black top hat. He smiled. At least his angelic powers were working - one thing he didn't have to worry about, and he was grateful for that.
Once he was properly attired, he wandered the streets of London trying to get his bearings. Dusk was approaching, and the gas streetlamps cast a muted golden glow on the sidewalks. The illumination from the streetlamps didn’t reach far. There were patches of darkness in the alleyways where thieves could lay in wait for their next victims.
Rayven didn’t fear the dark. No human in this realm could harm him, but other humans would not be immune to those with dark intentions. Jack the Ripper came to mind, although his legendary reign of terror came much later in the century.
He passed smartly dressed gentlemen strolling down the street with fancy walking sticks. Prostitutes dressed in bold, risqué gowns, beckoned the gentlemen closer. Their unseemly intentions were evident. One tried to solicit him, but he graciously refused and kept walking.
Piano music drifted from a tavern he passed, one of many that lined the street. He stopped and looked through the window. Working-class men and aristocrats crowded the tavern. Busy night, he thought.
Rayven felt someone tug on his jacket and looked down. A little boy no more than six or seven, dressed in ragged clothes gazed up at him with inquisitive eyes.
“Sir, do you have a farthing or two you could spare?”
He felt instant compassion for the little smudged face gazing at him expectantly. He was sure he wasn’t the only person on the street the little boy approached, but that fact didn’t matter. He pulled some coins out of his waistcoat pocket and laid them in the small outstretched palm.
“Here you go.”
The boy looked down at the coins in his hands and up at him in surprise. “That’s half a crown!” He exclaimed in a small, dulcet voice. “Thank you, sir.”
“What’s your name?” Rayven asked.
“Billy.”
“Where do you live, Billy?”
“I don’t live nowhere,” the boy replied.
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t have no parents.”
He’s so young to be living on his own. Surely, someone must look after him, Rayven thought with dismay. There were so many homeless people living on the streets in Las Vegas, he’d gotten accustomed to seeing them. But to see a small child on the street begging for money pulled at the strings of his heart.
“Who looks after you, Billy?”
“Other street kids. We take care of each other.”
“Billy!” Another small voice called from the shadows. “It’s time to go. It’s dark and we need to get inside.”
Billy didn’t say anything immediately. A moment later, Rayven saw three children emerge from the shadows of the alley near the tavern.
“Why didn’t you answer?” An impish girl with dirty blonde hair asked with authority, her hands on her hips. Her clothes were in no better condition than Billy’s. She appeared to be three or four years older than him.
She must be the leader, Rayven thought, as he regarded the other children standing beside her.
Billy held out his hand under the streetlamp light. “Look, Ginny, the kind sir gave me half a crown.”
The one called Ginny gazed at Rayven, gratitude on her dirty, streaked face. “Thank you.”
“Ginny, are you and your little band of hooligans bothering this gentleman?” A man said as he strode toward them, a smile on his handsome face.
“No, Mr. Tilney.” Ginny beamed.
He turned to Billy. “What’s in your hand, Billy?”
“Nothin’, sir.”
“Let me see,” the man said as he moved closer.
Fearing the children would get into trouble, Rayven stopped him. “I gave the coins to him.”
Mr. Tilney nodded. “I wanted to make sure they weren’t bothering you. I fear for them begging on these streets. It’s not safe.”
“We’re careful,” Ginny spoke up. “But it’s been a few days since we ate. We had to go out tonight.”
Mr. Tilney handed Ginny a handful of coins. “With what this kind gentleman gave Billy, this should tide you children over for a while. I’m looking for a safe place for you all to live. I’ll be back after Christmas to check on you.” He waved his hand, shooing them away. “Off with you now and get to shelter.”
Ginny grinned and herded the other children away into the darkness of the alleyway.
The man turned back to Rayven and extended his hand. “Henry Tilney.”
Rayven shook his hand. “Rayven Stone.”
“An odd name. Where are you from??”
“I live in America. I’m here on business.”
“What type of business are you in?” Henry asked.
“I’m an art dealer in New York City. My client’s wife saw one of Marguerite Gérard’s paintings when they were abroad and asked me to buy one for her.”
“My wife, Catherine, admires Margueri
te’s work too.”
“I plan to go to Paris after the holidays to speak with the artist.”
“Where are you staying?” Henry asked.
“I haven’t rented a room yet. I just arrived in London.”
“Come with me,” Henry said. “I’m renting a room at the Foggy Bog Tavern. The food and the ale are both good there. I’m sure there’s a room available you could rent.”
Liking the man, Rayven agreed. “Very well. I am famished.”
“Follow me. It’s not far.” Henry headed down the street.
“Henry, I wanted to ask you about the children. Billy, Ginny, and the others.”
He stopped walking and turned to Rayven. “What is it?”
“How do they survive? They are so young.”
“I know they are, but the older ones protect the younger ones. Ginny is almost thirteen. She is their leader. I’ve known her and the others for a few years now. I check on them when I’m in town. I was on my way to look for them when I saw them with you.”
“Is there nowhere else for them to live other than the streets.”
“There isn’t adequate housing for all the homeless children in London. Some go to the workhouses, but the conditions are often deplorable. The orphanages in London are over-crowded. Many storekeepers and tavern owners will take in children, but most treat them like little more than slaves. Either way, Ginny and her group would be separated and end up in different places. They have been together most of their young lives. I want to keep them together. I’m trying to raise enough money to buy a large estate that would offer them a safe environment to thrive and grow. I would hire someone respectable to oversee the management of it. There’s so many children besides Ginny, Billy, and the others that need a home.”
“A very noble plan,” Rayven replied, respecting Henry for his kind heart. Living in Las Vegas, he hadn’t seen many people who thought of anyone but themselves. People weren’t very charitable anymore. Meeting a man like Henry Tilney was rare.
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