Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt

by Call Back Yesterday. txt (lit)

  her attention back to the note.

  She took it and saw how his hand was trembling.

  Maybe she had misjudged him. He seemed far more

  distressed at the news of Hastings’ accident than she had

  surmised. Telling him she would have the message taken

  directly to the elderly man, she hurried out of the vicarage.

  If Nash was surprised Reverend Fairfield was not

  joining her on the ride back to Rosewood Hall, he showed

  no sign of it. He must have become accustomed to the

  peculiarities of this family. She wished she could.

  Balancing the note on her lap, she stared at the design

  pressed into the wax. It looked like some sort of

  mythological character—half lion and half snake. Not at

  all what she would have thought a vicar might use.

  She wondered why Reverend Fairfield had sent a note

  instead of hurrying to Hastings’ bedside himself. When a

  yawn burst out of her, she pushed her curiosity aside. There

  was enough amiss. She did not need to look for more

  trouble.

  Darcy climbed the front steps as rain started falling

  beyond the porte-cochere, and the door beneath the rosetinted

  glass opened. She greeted the butler Fraser. He acted

  as if he were frightened about someone or something

  outside, for he hastily closed the door as sweat shone on

  his brow.

  “Dr. Simon is in his office,” he said before she could

  say more.

  “How is Hastings?”

  “The doctor decided to stay with him while Dr.

  Hastings sleeps.”

  She held out the letter the vicar had sent. “Will you

  have this delivered to Hastings’ room? Reverend Fairfield

  wanted him to see it as soon as possible.”

  “Isn’t the vicar coming?”

  “He said he would be here soon.”

  Fraser’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “That’s good. Dr.

  Simon seems to have found sleep impossible himself. He

  came down to his office and asked me to ask you if you

  would join him there upon your return.”

  Darcy nodded, although she could not halt a wistful

  glance toward the stairs. Her nightmare had left her more

  exhausted than when she went to bed, and the events since

  she had awakened to find herself in Simon’s arms had only

  added to her confusion and fatigue. Hoping Simon would

  realize she could not type accurately when she was so tired,

  she trudged along the hallway toward his office.

  She paused when she saw the filmy glow hanging in

  the air before the door. “What are you?” she whispered.

  “Why are you here near Simon’s office?”

  The glow flowed toward her too swiftly for her to react.

  As it surrounded her, its light flickering along her as if she

  had swallowed a ray of sunshine, all signs of her exhaustion

  vanished. She was filled with a joy so sweet she laughed.

  Putting her fingers to her lips, hoping no one had heard

  her giddy giggle when Hastings was being tended to by

  the doctor upstairs, she turned to see the glowing air rise

  toward the ceiling and disappear.

  She shivered, all yearning to smile vanishing along

  with the glow. This odd light, which was so different from

  her companion light, yet had metamorphosed into it when

  she had seen it in Simon’s office, had created these strong

  emotions of sorrow and now happiness each time it

  appeared.

  Was it a ghost? She frowned. She did not believe in

  such silliness. Ghost stories were like Jaddeh’s amazing

  tales, fun to repeat but based on nothing.

  Another shiver coursed along her. Those were

  Grandmother Kincaid’s opinions, not hers. If she accepted

  that her companion light was some sort of guardian angel,

  believing in ghosts which remained as pure emotion was

  not much of a stretch to imagine.

  She gazed up at the ceiling and whispered as she had

  before, “What are you?” Some lingering sensation from

  the glow suggested the answer to that question was one

  she must find soon.

  Nine

  As Darcy entered the office, the soft patter of rain

  against the windows was the only sound she heard. When

  she saw Simon bent over a book, she had to fight the

  temptation to smooth back his russet hair. Seeing him

  absorbed in tracing the origins of another word was

  appealing. She admired his resolve to complete his book

  by the deadline. She was unsure she could be as focused if

  her father had been hurt.

  He looked up, coming to his feet, and she saw she had

  misread him again. His face was drawn, his eyes dull with

  worry. Setting the book on the table beside him, he swore

  when several more tumbled to the floor.

  She knelt and gathered them up, setting them back on

  the table and straightening the pile so no more fell.

  “Thank you,” Simon said tersely.

  “Fraser said you wished to see me straightaway.”

  Instead of replying to her comment, he asked, “Is

  Andrew here?”

  “Reverend Fairfield is following me back to Rosewood

  Hall. He should be here soon, although the storm might

  delay him.” She stood.

  “Very good. I know he’ll want to be here. Thank you

  for going to Halyeyn to alert him.”

  “Simon, may I ask a strange question?”

  “If you must.”

  She flinched as she had at the vicarage. Simon’s tone

  was almost lifeless. “It can wait until later.”

  “You might as well ask now. Andrew never goes

  anywhere quickly. He always has one loose end or another

  to tie up, even in the middle of the night.” He went to the

  window and peered out. “Last time Father took ill, Andrew

  was more than two hours getting here, because he was

  busy with his duties.” Facing her, he asked, “What’s

  bothering you?”

  “Don’t think me silly, but does Rosewood Hall have a

  resident ghost?”

  “Probably. Any house this old must have a couple of

  spirits or two.” His lips tilted his mustache, although his

  eyes remained filled with worry. “Why? Have you seen

  one?”

  “Maybe.” She wrapped her arms around herself as she

  stared at the rain crawling along the window.

  “I’d have thought you’d be more likely to see a real

  ghost at Andrew’s house.”

  “The vicarage?”

  “It wasn’t always the vicarage. In fact, Andrew is the

  first vicar to live there. He had a much smaller house before

  he received the house from Mrs. Gaines after she died in

  the insane asylum overlooking Halyeyn.”

  “Insane asylum? Is that the big building on the hill

  beyond the village?”

  He nodded. “We try to forget it’s there, but those with

  loved ones who are mad believe they’re helping them with

  a life in the country.”

  “Did the church or Reverend Fairfield inherit the

  house?”

  “I’m not sure. I believe it’s his for as long as he is

  vicar of Halyeyn. He did spend a great deal o
f time with

  Mrs. Gaines before she was sent to the asylum.” He walked

  toward her. “Why are you so interested?”

  “He just seems to be . . .” When Simon paused only

  inches from her, her voice faltered. “It’s not important.”

  She eased past him as if oblivious to his powerful virility.

  No longer could she ignore the strong muscles hidden

  beneath his sedate shirt. Her fingers tingled to touch that

  smooth skin again. Taking off her bonnet and shawl, she

  put them on a chair as she asked, “Shall I continue with

  the pages from the Middle English text next?”

  “You want to go to work now? You’ve been up half

  the night.”

  “As have you.” She rubbed her hands together, for a

  sudden chill seemed to flicker along her fingers. “I doubt

  if I can sleep now, and we’re lagging behind what we need

  to get done in order to meet your deadline.”

  He stepped between her and the desk. “Darcy, I know

  you’re uneasy about what happened in your rooms before

  Father fell.”

  “You said there was nothing to discuss, and I agree.

  You were kind to come to check on me, and I appreciate

  it.” She looked past him, so she did not have to meet his

  eyes. Then she might have to admit to herself—and to

  him—how she wanted to be honest with him about so many

  things.

  “Yes.”

  He said nothing more as she walked around him to

  the desk. As she began to work, she tried to push away

  both the chill of seeing that odd glow in the hallway and

  the sultry heat of standing so close to Simon. She rolled a

  clean page into the typewriter, and she pressed the keys,

  she never had been so happy to find a haven in her work.

  ***

  ~~~ Meskhenet stepped ashore on the far side of the

  Nile. She had never come to Thoth’s Valley without her

  brother and his retainers. Today, she brought only a single

  servant. Nuru, who had served Meskhenet’s mother, knew

  how to keep her counsel. Unless asked directly by Pharaoh,

  she would not reveal where she and Meskhenet had

  traveled.

  Turning to the boatman, Meskhenet smiled. Ubaid was

  as faithful as Nuru, so she had been elated to find him

  with his small boat by the wharf this morning.

  “Wait here,” she said.

  “I must return to the palace by midday to ferry others

  to this shore,” the boatman replied.

  “Our business here will be completed long before

  midday.”

  He nodded his shaved head and sank to sit in the

  bottom of his shallow boat. Pulling out a piece of sail, he

  bent to work on repairing a rip in it.

  Meskhenet motioned for Nuru to follow her as they

  walked along the dusty path toward the heart of Thoth’s

  Valley. She had come with Onuris on the day her brother

  had selected the site of his tomb, and she had been here on

  the day the priests came to consecrate it. That had been

  months ago, but she knew she would be able to find the

  tomb. It would be the sole site of work in the valley. All

  activity had been completed at her father’s tomb, and it

  had been sealed, its entrance hidden when her father’s

  sarcophagus was placed within it to await his judgment

  by Thoth.

  Sounds of stone being torn from the mountainside,

  which rose abruptly from the sand, led her toward where

  men worked, their skin already a sheen of sweat. No one

  seemed to take note of her and Nuru walking along the

  road. Dressed in simple robes and without any jewelry

  other than the necklace and the lapis ring that had been

  her mother’s, she could have been one of the workers’

  women.

  “What are you doing here?” asked a deep voice from

  beside the road.

  Meskhenet believed her heart would leap from her

  breast to dance with joy as she saw Kafele climb up from

  a ravine. He was as handsome as she remembered, even

  with rock dust covering the symbols of Thoth on his sandals

  and turning his hair to the gray it would become when he

  grew old.

  “I came to see you.” She heard Nuru’s breath draw in,

  but she would not be dishonest. It had been a full turn of

  the moon since she had last spoken with Kafele.

  He took her hand, drawing her toward a stack of stones

  that would conceal them from the work area. Nuru

  followed only a few paces, seeking the shade although the

  sun was not far above the eastern horizon.

  “You should not be here,” Kafele said.

  “You don’t wish for me to be here?”

  He framed her face with his large hands. “Beloved of

  Thoth, you know I wish you to be near me every minute of

  the day and throughout the night. But you are Pharaoh’s

  sister.”

  “Do you think I care about that?” She stood on tiptoe

  and brushed her lips against his.

  With an eager laugh, he tugged her into his arms as

  his mouth covered hers. His fingers rubbed her back gently

  as he held her even closer.

  Slowly he turned her so he pressed her against the

  stones, but the rock was no harder than his strong body.

  Her head rested on his muscular arm as he continued to

  kiss her with uncontrollable passion. His other hand settled

  on her waist, and he caressed its slender lines.

  Her own arms slipped up his naked back, her skin

  delighting in the hot, sticky warmth of his. When he raised

  his mouth from hers, she did not ease away. She gazed up

  into his eyes, which were bemused with glittering desire.

  He traced her face’s curves with a single finger, as if

  seeking to learn each angle. She wondered if he explored

  the stone he used to create her brother’s tomb with this

  same questing curiosity.

  “You are like a kitten,” he murmured. “When I pet

  you lightly, you purr so sweetly. The question is if you are

  a gentle cat or a lioness.”

  “My lady.” Nuru’s voice held a hint of anxiety. “He

  comes.”

  Meskhenet did not need to ask whom her servant spoke

  of. Nuru disliked the chief architect Usi even more than

  Meskhenet.

  Leaving Kafele’s arms with regret, she said, “Usi may

  be seeking you.”

  “You must leave without delay, and you must not return

  here alone.”

  “But I need to see you.”

  “I will come to you.” He gripped her hands. “Do not

  do anything ever again as foolhardy as returning here alone.

  Promise me that.”

  “I promise,” she replied, the words bitter on her tongue.

  “You must think before you act.”

  “Something my brother has told me more than once.”

  He gave her a fleeting smile as he said, “Now you

  must leave, Beloved of—”

  His name was shouted by the chief architect, who must

  still be on the other side of the road.

  Knowing what she risked, Meskhenet kissed Kafele

  again. His arms came up around her to hold her against

/>   him before he pushed her away.

  “Go!” he ordered.

  She doubted if she had ever done anything in her life

  as difficult as walking toward where Nuru paced in dismay.

  A single glance back revealed Kafele had already

  disappeared among the rocks edging the ravine.

  Meskhenet motioned for her servant to follow her back

  toward the Nile. They had gone only halfway to the water

  before her name was called. For a moment, she tried to

  convince her ears Kafele was coming after her. It was

  impossible because she recognized the man’s voice

  instantly.

  Usi.

  A young man rushed up to her and dropped to his

  knees. Through his panting, she realized he was explaining

  Usi wished to speak to her before she returned to the palace.

  “Tell him I have no time to remain here,” she replied.

  “Not even long enough to make your presence

  known?” came Usi’s question from behind her.

  She turned, wearing a practiced smile. She had used it

  often when speaking with the chief architect. “I did not

  want to disturb your workers,” she said.

  “So why are you here?” His smile was unctuous, and

  she knew better than to trust it. Soon she must speak with

  her brother about the chief architect’s greedy heart that

  could become troublesome in the months ahead.

  She could not reply with the truth, so she lied as she

  did so seldom. “I had heard the tunnel to the tomb had

  grown double-fold in length in just the past half-turn of

  the moon. I wished to see that amazing feat for myself.”

  “I would be glad to offer you a tour whenever you

  wish.”

  “No need. I have seen enough for today. When next

  my brother the Pharaoh comes to the site, I believe I shall

  join him for a further tour.”

  Usi did not step aside to let her pass. “It is not your

  honor to join your brother. That goes to your sister.”

  She stared at him for a long minute before realizing

  what he meant. It was not the place of a chief architect to

  speak of the Pharaoh’s intimate life with anyone, not even

  Pharaoh’s sister. With all her dignity, she said, “You forget

  yourself, Usi. Please move, so I may continue to the river.”

  “I have Pharaoh’s respect, and he knows I would do

  anything for him.” He eyed her up and down so boldly she

  feared he had persuaded Onuris to give her to him. Such a