by Denise Daye
John opened the door to his office and walked straight to the large mahogany desk. He poured himself a glass of brandy from a whiskey tray and pounded it down in one fluid motion. He then rang a bell for the butler. Penley opened the door and stepped in.
“You called, my lord?”
“Yes, please call my solicitor. I want to see him.”
“Of course, your lordship.” Penley did a courtesy bow and closed the door behind himself.
John gazed over the newspaper one more time, reading the headline again:
Engagement Announcement. Lord William Blackwell is to be married to Mrs. Emma Washington.
He threw the newspaper carelessly onto the desk, watching a few of the pages fall onto the floor. He poured himself another glass and pounded that one down as well. His heart felt that familiar stabbing pain again. Something he had to endure every time he thought of Emma, ever since the night she disappeared. All she’d left behind was a note that arrived the next day, saying nothing more than thanks for his hospitality and not to blame himself.
For months, he had been looking for her. He had employed several private detectives who all came back with different information. One of them had reported that Blackwell was looking for her as well, and that a man named Flinch knew something about her but had disappeared after talking to Blackwell’s hound, Gustav. The only other breakthrough he’d had was finding out that Emma’s maid Lily was a prostitute in the same part of town John had spent countless nights trying to save veterans in need. That was all he had left of her. Rumors and a short note. Actually, that wasn’t true. There was still that ridiculous announcement put out by Blackwell shortly after Emma’s disappearance, stating that she had gone back to America to make certain arrangements, hinting at an engagement. John had thought it was nonsense, but why openly get into it with Blackwell when he didn’t even know where Emma was himself?
He’d often wondered if this was all his fault. Love or not, he had taken advantage of her, so who could blame her for running away from him? By God, he couldn’t even blame her for marrying Blackwell. He had been more of a gentleman in all of this than John had been. He just wished he could have seen her one more time, to apologize, give her whatever she asked of him. Anything and everything. But none of that mattered any longer. The woman he loved would marry William Blackwell. What a fitting ending to a drama that had played its first act over ten years ago.
John sat down behind his desk just to stand up again. He couldn’t sit still and wait around for his solicitor. He would ride to him instead. If John knew one thing for sure, it was that his time at Evergreen had come to an end as well. He would sell. This time, without hesitation. John knew that he wouldn’t be able to bear living next to Emma Blackwell, running into her on carriage rides and neighborhood gatherings. No, he would move. Far away. Maybe Ireland? Or Italy? He smiled sarcastically at the thought of himself becoming the second person Blackwell had sent on the run to Italy. If it weren’t for Emma, he would have challenged Blackwell to a duel. But how could he do that to her after everything she’d had to endure? He couldn’t, was the answer. John pounded another glass of whiskey before making haste out of the office and into the entrance hall.
“Somebody get my horse ready! Now!” John shouted, so unlike his usual calm self.
Ten years, he had played with the idea of selling Evergreen Castle so he would never have to deal with Blackwell again. The man was like a wildfire, leaving behind a trail of destruction and ashes. The list of heartbroken women was so long, society didn’t even care anymore when another name was added to it. But if Emma wanted to get married to Blackwell, he would respect her choice. For months, he had been trying to find her, to talk to her…but quite clearly, she didn’t want to be found. At least, not by him. John would do the right thing and leave her be, even if that was the hardest, most painful thing he had ever had to do.
Emma’s footsteps echoed through the mighty entrance hall. It was so loud, it hurt her ears. She was dressed in the finest Chinese silk London had to offer. Her light-pink gown looked stunning on her, and the trail behind her dress was a bit longer than what she was used to but fitting for a Blackwell. Future Blackwell. She passed by the drawing room but stopped as soon as she saw Winston, the townhome’s butler.
“Winston, what happened to the rugs I bought for the entrance hall? Walking on that darn marble echoes so loudly, it makes my ears hurt.” It really did. At first, she didn’t want to say anything, but Emma had been in and out so many times, she would suffer from hearing loss walking on this floor if somebody didn't put a rug in here soon.
“I am sorry, my lady, but the current Lady Blackwell had them removed again. She said these floors are the most expensive part of the house and should not be hidden under cheap rugs.”
Emma rolled her eyes. Since she arrived at William’s townhome about a month ago, his mother and sister had fought her every chance they got. They were outspoken about their disapproval of the pending marriage, and despite William laying out the law for them, they would not give up quite so easily.
“I saw poor Nancy cover her ears in pain from these floors the other day. Are we living in a cave here?” Emma responded, annoyed with the Blackwells. It was true. Poor Nancy, one of the maids, had had to clean that entrance hall earlier in the week, and for hours, she’d had to endure the loud echoes of footsteps.
Winston looked at her as if he was caught between enemy lines.
“No worries, Winston.” Emma turned around and headed toward her room upstairs. Like everything in this house, her room was decorated in gold and the finest fabrics and paintings in the country. Emma didn’t have time for this battle of rugs. She was working day and night on trying to find a way back home. If she could manage to figure out what had happened to her before her scheduled wedding day in April, she could get out of here without ever having to get married to William. Luckily enough, it was Blackwell tradition to marry on the day the very first Blackwell was called into aristocracy by the King of England—April the 5th. That gave her a few months to figure things out.
William was keeping a close eye on her but wasn’t too concerned about her running away again, as he had made it very clear that he would simply find her again. Emma couldn’t care less; her next attempt at running away would be back into the future, and there was no way he would find her in a different century, so Emma didn’t give two cents about his threats or constant surveillance and did her research in the open. By now, Emma was so used to Gustav stalking her, she almost felt weird when he wasn’t following her.
Emma walked into her bathroom, which she had slowly transformed into a small lab. One of the few rooms neither Gustav nor William stepped foot into. Lily was in there, mixing the solution that was needed to separate penicillin spores from mold. After Emma had used her homemade penicillin and successfully cured her infected arm and one of Lily’s coworkers who suffered from a horrendous case of syphilis, Lily had developed quite an interest in chemistry.
“How was your meeting with the witches?” Lily asked with an ironic grin on her face. She was dressed in clothes far too fine for a maid. Emma had fought William tooth and nail over letting Lily stay with her. At first, he was totally against it but had finally given in after Emma threatened to call off the wedding if William wouldn’t save Lily from the poorhouse. Lily now helped Emma with odd tasks that could assist Emma in her quest to find a way out of 1881.
“It was ridiculous. They were talking about creating spells using cat urine and baby poop, but when I asked about time travel, they looked at me as if I was totally out of my mind.” Emma sat down on the edge of the bathtub and sighed. She had chased down several promising leads, but all of them had resulted in dead ends. Just like the one today. She had found out one thing, though—that darn coin, the very reason for Emma getting hit by that car in the first place, had turned out to be nothing more than a typical Victorian shilling, found at every street corner. The disappointment Emma felt when she had learned that was beyond imaginable. But w
hat had she hoped to find out? That this coin was, in fact, some magical coin with great powers, like Frodo's precious ring in Lord of the Rings?
The clock struck eight, and Emma looked up at Lily, who stopped mixing powders and caught Emma’s stare with empathy.
“Why do you not tell him that you are feeling under the weather?” Lily asked.
Emma thought about it for a second but shook her head. “I don’t want to push him. If he gets nothing in return and grows tired of us, he might ruin us after all, or worse.”
Lily knew exactly what that meant. Flinch was still nowhere to be found, and Lily and Emma were growing more and more suspicious that William had something to do with his mysterious disappearance. No, Emma had to go. This was the only thing William asked of her right now, to join him every evening at eight in the library for drinks and conversation. He had even stuck to his promise to wait until they were wed before expecting her to share his bed, so far. Still, Emma dreaded those evenings in the library in his company, always walking on eggshells, never knowing what he would do or want next. She was like a doll that he could take out to play with and put away whenever it pleased him.
William was already sitting in one of the chairs next to the gigantic marble fireplace when Emma joined him. The flames within were flickering strongly, sending warmth and a cozy light into the room. William was sipping on a glass of whiskey.
“There you are. Whiskey?”
“Yes, please,” Emma said, sitting down across from him on a longue chair.
William walked over to a little liquor table that offered several choices of the finest brands in town. He poured Emma a glass of the Irish whiskey she liked so much and handed it to her.
“Thanks.”
William sat down across from her again. Like every night, he started to talk about a topic of his interest. Emma only heard the beginning; something about the stock market in America was the last thing Emma processed before drifting off, thinking of John. That was something she did quite often, especially when sitting in the library. She remembered their passionate lovemaking in his room, in front of a fireplace similar to the one she was sitting next to right now, just a lot smaller. She felt the usual tingle in her stomach when she thought about how gently John had kissed her, entered her. The beautiful feeling was soon to be replaced with an overwhelming sadness. She missed him so much. What was he up to? Was he still thinking of her? Or did he hate her?
“Emma!” William pulled her back into the current moment.
She blinked at him, unsure how long he had been talking.
“You are doing it again,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m sorry. It has been a long day, and I’m tired.” Emma stood up to signal that she would like to retire.
William took a sip from his whiskey, leaning his head to the side as he pondered whether he should let her go or not.
“Not yet,” he determined. “Sit back down and tell me about your day. You attended a lecture by that insane scientist, did you not? Tesla?”
William had no idea that the crazy scientist was one of the greatest minds of all time. It was a long shot, but Emma was toying with the idea that electricity could have something to do with her situation. Heck, she’d traveled back in time. Her plan to attend a Tesla lecture and ask a few targeted questions was making far more sense than that meeting with the witches had. If Emma remembered correctly, Tesla and Edison were just about to start their War of Currents within the next year or so.
“No, that isn’t until the end of next month. Today, I was trapped for six hours in a ceremony with a bunch of old women who thought they could make someone fall in love by using cat urine.”
William threw his head back and slapped his leg, laughing wholeheartedly. “I hope you took some of it and thought of me,” he said, gasping for air.
“Nope. Sorry. I tried to leave five minutes into it, but they wouldn’t let me. Those damn fools said I would mess with the energy flow if I left early, so they locked me in with them.” Emma crossed her arms, something she did a lot in William’s presence.
William barely got a hold of himself. “Really, Emma, my life was quite boring before you came along.”
Every night, she had to amuse William like a court jester. She had to remind herself that this wouldn’t last forever, or she would sail into total despair like a ship lost at sea.
“I’m glad I entertain you so much,” she said with a hint of annoyance.
“Oh, do not get angry, I am just enjoying myself a bit. So, when will you tell me what this is really all about? Witches, mad scientists, all those mysterious daily rounds…what are you trying to accomplish?”
“Why don’t you ask Gustav? He’s there with me every step of the way…” Emma finished her drink.
“I have a feeling that poor Gustav does not have the slightest inclination about what you are really doing. But, for now, we can keep it this way. I am entertained enough by how things stand.”
Emma got out of her chair and put her empty glass on a little table close to it. William didn’t stop her this time, which meant he would let her go now. He stood up and leaned in to give her the usual goodnight kiss on the cheek. Emma hated his touch but had no choice but to let it happen.
“Well, I cannot wait to hear about your next adventure tomorrow,” William said, opening the door for Emma. She stepped out into the hallway.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said, heading back to her room, leaving behind the loud echoes of footsteps on cold marble floors.
This was her life. Amusing some entitled duke in Victorian London. Soon, she would have to entertain him in other ways as well. The thought of having to sleep with him made her gag. She had to find a way out. Double her efforts. Tomorrow, she would go back to the library and talk to the old man who worked there. He knew a thing or two about who was what in London, and Emma wanted to see if he knew of any people who specialized in the study of time.
Like so many nights before, she lay in bed awake, thinking of John. What was he doing? He knew now where to find her…would he come and talk to her? Insist he still loved her and take her away? Emma tossed herself to her side.
It must have been barely past ten when Emma heard that familiar light knock against her window. Lily, who had been sleeping on a chaise longue, got up and opened it.
“This Blackwell gentleman is making it incredibly hard to get to yer,” Skip said, climbing into the room. He walked straight to the fire and sat down next to it, starting to eat the sandwich and sausage from the plate Emma had waiting for him every night.
“Still no match for Skip the Wise,” he grinned, then took a big bite from the sausage.
Skip had become family to Emma. Like Lily, Emma wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him. He’d watched out for both Lily and Emma when they’d had to hide in the roughest parts of London. He taught her how to use the knife she always carried no matter where she went. Now, he was helping with errands that William and his hound Gustav didn’t need to know about. Mostly gathering substances for making medications and snooping into William’s daily activities. William wasn’t the only one who thought it wise to keep an eye on people. Thanks to Skip’s efforts, Emma had been able to make aspirin, and find out that William’s only real interests next to Emma were horses and guns. He was one of the best shots in the country, something not very comforting to know.
“Anything interesting today?” Like every night, she was hoping to hear from John.
“Interestin’, indeed. Good, certainly not,” Skip said, putting the food down. “They found Flinch.”
Emma and Lily both jumped up in anticipation. “What? Where? Is he okay? Did he say anything?”
Skip opened the beer bottle and took a long pull from it. “Flinch will not say a word ter nobody ever again. They found him in the Thames. People think he bragged too loudly about his coins, so someone robbed and killed him.”
Emma and Lily looked at each other, knowing they were thinking the same thing.
&
nbsp; “Or someone killed him to keep him quiet about Emma.”
Skip thought about it for a second. “Why would someone do that?”
“To avoid a scandal and keep her under that someone’s complete control.”
This took things to a whole new level. Flinch was gone, most likely killed by the very man who already dictated her life like a puppet master. Not that Emma felt bad for Flinch. Skip assured her that he was the lowest form of life to have ever inhabited this earth. But now, Emma would never be able to question him, find out what had happened before he tried to rob her the day she woke up in the street.
“But that is not all, is it?” Lily announced, more a statement than a question. Emma turned toward him again.
“Don’ know what yer mean,” Skip said, scratching his nose and avoided her gaze.
“There…you are scratching your nose,” Lily accused him, trapping him between the fireplace and herself. Skip had a bad tell whenever he lied or hid something from people he cared about. He turned around and held his hands up, warming them innocently over the comforting warmth of the fire.
“I don’t know what yor talkin’ about.”
Emma walked straight up to him and spun him around.
“Skip, you know how much it worries me when you do that. Is something the matter with you? Are you sick?” Emma was deeply concerned now.
He looked at her for a second, then finally gave in. “It would be better if yer don’t know, Emma.”
“Please…tell me,” she said, grabbing his shoulders.
Skip took a deep breath in and exhaled it rapidly. “Okay, but please promise me you will not do anythin’ foolish.”
“I’ll try,” she promised.
“Evergreen…”
Emma's eyes widened in shock as she started to shake him. “What is it? Is he okay? Tell me!”
Skip grabbed both of Emma’s hands and held them close together.
“John Evergreen is fine, but his mother…she is dying of the cough…”
Emma stumbled a few steps back. An icy shiver ran through her entire body like a raging blizzard. The couch that Skip was referring to was Victorian English for pneumonia.
