“She wasn’t meant for Simon. She’s meant for you.
Take her, and she’ll give you Thoth’s spell of eternal life.
She should share it with you.”
“Hastings.” She ignored the pain as the vicar twisted
her hair again. “Hastings, listen to me. He’s lying to you.
He wants Rosewood Hall and everything in it for himself.”
It was the one clue holding the whole of the story together.
As Usi had aspired to possess the grandest palace in Egypt
and the Pharaoh’s throne, the vicar wanted Rosewood Hall
and its wealth.
Reverend Fairfield chuckled with disdain. “She’s
trying to trick you. If she doesn’t share with you that life
she has taken from Simon, she can keep it for herself. It
was your son’s ka. It should be yours, not hers.”
“Hastings, please don’t heed him,” she begged.
The old man glanced at her, then ordered, “Go,
Andrew.”
“But — ”
“Go. She’s mine. I will have this done as it should be
done. Privately.”
“Forget your English puritanism. She is of Egypt. Take
her now.”
“No,” Hastings said. “This must be done correctly.
You have told me that.”
“Ready yourself.” As Hastings nodded, then coughed
hard again and again, the vicar turned to Darcy and smiled.
“You could have been mine, and then you wouldn’t be
here.”
“Why would I want to be yours? I love Simon.”
His hand struck her cheek, knocking her back against
the wall. “That was your first mistake, and it may be your
last as well. I’ll tell you farewell now, Darcy.” He let her
name hiss through his teeth.
“You,” she cried, holding her hand to her throbbing
cheek. “You’re the monster of the wood.”
“I knew eventually you’d see the truth.” He raised his
hand again. “When it is right in your face.”
She cringed away as she stared at his long fingers, a
legacy he shared with his father and Simon. “Why did you
create the monster?” she asked, able to be daring for she
had little to lose now. Simon . . . No, she must not think of
him now. She must think of saving his father from the
vicar’s treachery. But if Simon was already dead . . . No!
Not now.
“Hastings has believed he’s dying since the first time
I met him. Now, with my help, he finally is.”
“You are poisoning him.”
He laughed. “I’m trying to get him what he thought he
wanted. But, at this late point, the old fool has changed
his mind, so I offered him the cult as a way to escape
death.”
“Even as its rigors were killing him.” She thought of
the wet shoes Hastings had worn when he slipped on the
stairs.
“But then you, dear Darcy, arrived with your exotic
beauty and that necklace.” He flicked his fingers against
her pendant. “The story of Thoth serves me well. Hastings
will probably die making love to you in an effort to regain
his youth. Then you’ll die because no one comes into these
cellars.”
“You beast!” She swung her fist at him.
He caught her wrist and shoved her to the floor by
Hastings’ feet. “Hastings, enjoy yourself.” He pulled the
door closed, and she heard the bar drop back into place.
She ran to the door and pounded on it. Even if she
screamed, no one would hear her. Turning, she faced
Hastings, who wove toward her.
She grasped his arms. “Hastings, you must heed me.
He was lying to you. I’m not Thoth’s handmaiden. I’m
Darcy Kincaid, your son’s secretary.”
“You wear Thoth’s pendant.”
“It’s a common emblem in Egypt.”
“But you are Thoth’s handmaiden.” He reached for
her, then fell to the floor. With a moan, she bunched up the
blanket and put it under his head. Not that it mattered.
They both were doomed to die here.
As the lantern sputtered, she clenched her hands at
her side. She would not fear the darkness in this room. It
was the darkness within a man’s arid soul she needed to
fear.
When Hastings moaned, she bent over him and
whispered, “Don’t try to talk or move. Help will be here
soon.” The lie was the most acrid she had ever spoken.
Or was it a lie?
Darcy stood as she heard someone lifting the bar. The
door swung open, and she fought to prepare herself for
what torment Usi’s ka was about to inflict on them now.
“Locke!” She stared at Hastings’ valet. “How did you
find us?”
“Dr. Hastings used to come down to this section of
the cellar to make wine. When I discovered him missing,
I thought he might have wandered in here again.” Regret
and grief filled the valet’s voice. “He has been going often
to places of his younger years. I think he’s seeking his
youth again.”
“Hastings needs help right away.”
He pushed past her and knelt by the old man. “Who
did this?” He scowled. “You?”
“Of course not! I wouldn’t lock myself in here. It was
Reverend Fairfield.”
“He did this to his own father?”
Remembering how her grandmother had told her one
could have no secrets from one’s own servants, Darcy
swallowed her surprise and nodded. “Did you see him?”
“Yes. He was going out on the terrace with a glass of
Dr. Simon’s best brandy.”
Snarling her favorite curse, Darcy went to the door.
“I’ll send someone for Dr. Tompkins.”
“And send some footmen down here to take Dr.
Hastings to his rooms. It’s too cold here for him.”
She nodded, pausing. “My grandmother . . . Where is
she?” Explaining all of this to her grandmother would take
too much time, for Lady Kincaid would heap
recriminations on her and ask so many questions that
Reverend Fairfield might learn of their escape. Then he
would make his own.
“She is asleep,” Locke assured her.
“Just asleep?” She glanced at Hastings, wondering if
the vicar had included her grandmother in his scheme to
see them all dead. Her grandmother was spiteful and
narrow-minded, but Darcy realized with a pulse of
amazement that she deeply cared for her. Love? No, that
would be too strong a word, but Lady Kincaid was the
only relative she had in England.
Running along the narrow corridor, Darcy sprinted up
the first staircase she encountered. She was amazed to
come out into the passage under the front staircase. Ringing
for the servants, she quickly sent a half dozen footmen
down into the cellars and another into the village for the
doctor. She ordered a pair of maids to her grandmother’s
chambers, telling them only to make certain her
grandmother was alive.
“Come with me,” she added to the housekeeper and
the wide-eyed butler who were staring at her in
uncharacteristic silence. “Simon may need your help.” She
did not want to voice her fear that it might already be too
late.
The moonlight sent a pink sparkle onto the stairs, but
she was not relieved the night had not yet passed. Gas
could kill swiftly. Tearing open the door of her room, she
choked and pulled it closed. Her rapid orders sent Mrs.
Pollock and Fraser scurrying to turn off all the gaslights
along the hall. Below she heard doors being opened, and
windows were being slid up on both floors.
Fraser pulled off his coat and draped it over her
shoulders. Only then did she recall the flimsy nightgown
she wore. When she thanked him, he said, “Miss Kincaid,
if you wish to stay here—”
“No.” She opened her door again, stepping aside to
let any gas out. Waving her hands, she took a deep breath
of fresh air and ran into her room.
The teapot was where they had left it. The vicar must
have arranged for both pots to be laced with the sleeping
powder sent from the asylum, so he could abduct her and
kill Simon.
She could not silence a sob as she ran into her
bedchamber. It was dark with the draperies drawn. She
groped for the knob on the gaslight. She twisted it as far
as it would go. The hiss, so like the monster’s voice,
vanished. Choking, she lurched to the windows where Mrs.
Pollock was already pushing aside the draperies and raising
the panes.
Moonlight splashed into the room. She took a deep
breath of fresh air, then rushed back to the bed. The
silhouette of a motionless form brought her to her knees
beside the bed. She heard Mrs. Pollock weeping behind
her.
Putting her head down on the blanket, she whispered,
“Simon, I’m so sorry. I never meant any of this to happen.
If I’d left when you asked me to, you could have focused
on your book. Maybe he wouldn’t have seen you as a threat
to him.” She stretched out her hand, wanting to touch him
just once more.
The silhouette collapsed beneath her fingers. With a
gasp, Darcy pulled back the covers. Pillows were bunched
up in the middle of the bed, and she saw where the sheets
were pulled toward the opposite side as if someone had
crawled off the bed.
She looked at the far side of the bed and the window
which she always raised before going to bed. Had it saved
Simon? But, if it had, where was he?
Ignoring Mrs. Pollock’s questions, she ran around the
bed to the window. She shouldered aside the draperies,
half-hoping she would find Simon here and fearing she
would.
She found nothing. Where was he? A footman burst
in to say Simon’s bedchamber and his office were both
empty. Where was he?
Behind him a maid announced her grandmother was
hale and awake and demanding to see Darcy.
“Not now,” Darcy replied. “Tell her not now. I need
to . . .”
She stared out the window. A light! Out by the maze.
Darcy clutched the molding. That light had drawn her
out of Rosewood Hall before, and she had been captured
by that horrible beast in the wood. Why was Reverend
Fairfield going out there again? As she watched, the lantern
vanished. Not into the wood, but into the maze.
Pulling on the wrapper still hanging over the footboard,
she gasped when something flew off from it to land on the
floor. She bent and picked up a black wig. The one
Reverend Fairfield had been wearing! He had come up to
be certain Simon was dead, and now he knew Simon must
still be alive.
She looked out the window as a second lantern
twinkled in the darkness. Was that Simon? Was he
following his brother into the maze? She had to reach
Simon and warn him before he walked into the trap his
brother might have set for him once Reverend Fairfield
discovered Simon had escaped.
Do not repeat your mistakes, for you will not be given
another chance. Ahwere’s voice echoed in her head.
Meskhenet had gone to try to save Kafele without
getting help. Darcy could not make the same mistake.
“Send for the constable, Fraser,” she ordered. “Tell
him I’ll talk to him as soon as I return.”
“Return? From where?”
“The garden.”
Mrs. Pollock cried, “Don’t go out there, Miss Kincaid.
The people in the wood—”
“Are being duped by Reverend Fairfield.” She
squeezed the housekeeper’s trembling hands. “Go! Please.”
As soon as Mrs. Pollock rushed out of the room, Darcy
looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know who or what you
are,” she said, “but I need your help now. Where are you?”
The clouds of light thickened near the ceiling.
“Can you help? Can you help me find Simon?”
She watched the clouds drift toward the door, gathering
speed. She followed them, then halted when she came face-
to-face with her grandmother. Lady Kincaid was drawing
in a breath to puff up like a toad as she did each time she
was about to list all of Darcy’s shortcomings.
“Not now,” Darcy said. “I cannot stay and argue with
you now.”
Her grandmother stood in the doorway and did not
move. Outrage bristled from her gray hair and her pursed
lips.
“I will come back later, Grandmother,” Darcy said. “I
must go now.”
“Where?”
“I don’t have time to explain. I must go now.”
“Dressed like that?”
“What does it matter what I wear when if I don’t get
to Simon in time, he may be killed?”
Her grandmother sniffed. “What nonsense is this? Are
you asking me to believe another of your silly stories?”
Darcy pointed at the clouds of light waiting for her
just beyond the doorway. “Look at that and tell me this is
just a silly story.”
“Look at what?” Lady Kincaid turned and gasped,
“What madness is this?”
“That light, I assure you, is the least deranged aspect
of anything tonight.” She grasped her grandmother’s arm.
“Please step aside. I will explain later.”
Before Darcy could say more, the lights throbbed and
grew brighter. A glowing finger reached toward her
grandmother, who promptly swooned. Startled, Darcy
crouched next to her grandmother. Putting her fingers to
Lady Kincaid’s neck, she was relieved to discover a slow,
steady pulse. She had not guessed her grandmother would
faint so easily. Or was it just a faint?
“Did you do something to her?” she demanded of the
lights.
They flickered before beginning to vanish.
“No! No! I did not mean to suggest you had harmed
her. I am sorry.” She stepped over her grandmother and
held up her hands to the lights. “Please. I need your help.
If you abandon me, what happened before is certain to
happen again.
”
The lights strengthened, and she knew her pleas had
been heard. As they moved, she followed them down the
stairs. She paused only long enough to send help to her
grandmother, then chased the lights out onto the terrace.
Straining to see them against the darkness, for their light
was feeble, she was not surprised when they moved steadily
in the direction of the maze.
Darcy did not slow as she entered the labyrinth. She
had followed the pages of Meskhenet’s story last time.
Now she had these lights to guide her. As she hurried
through the maze, she wondered if it had grown in size.
At the center of the maze, the moon reflected on the
pool, and the miniature temple was as white as dried bones.
She crossed the stepping stones and ran into the temple.
Without a lantern, she could not see beyond the arc of
moonlight by the entrance.
A hand grabbed her. She screamed as she was tugged
to the ground. When a gun fired, she tensed, waiting for
the fatal pain. The bullet struck the wall near where she
had been standing.
“What are you doing here?”
She looked at the shadow beside her, not willing to
believe her ears. “Simon!”
“Shh,” he ordered as he put his finger to her lips.
“You’re alive,” she whispered.
“I am now, but I shall not be long if that shooter has
his way.”
“It’s Reverend Fairfield.”
He stared at her, and she could see his shock in the
light from the clouds now hanging overhead. “You mean
my cousin tried to murder us?”
“Your half-brother.” She motioned the clouds away,
for they were alerting the vicar to where they were. The
gun fired again. Bits of marble rained down on her. “He
wants to—”
“Kill me. That’s obvious.” His jaw tightened. “And
you?”
“Yes, and your father.”
“Father! Is he—?”
“He is still alive.” She put her hand on his arm as he
coughed. “Why did you come out here?”
“You were gone, and I saw a lantern. When it did not
go into the wood, but into the maze, I thought it might be
you seeking a place to hide where you’d be safe.”
“Just what Reverend Fairfield wanted you to think.”
As if she had shouted his name, the vicar called, “Come
out. I know you’re in there.”
Simon motioned for her to say nothing, then he waved
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 31
