The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2)

by Jennifer L. Hayes

  Without a moment’s delay, the earl was out the door.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered, his foul mood ripening by the moment.

  Young Jamie pulled alongside and without pausing to address anyone in the proper fashion he simply shouted.

  “Fire!” He struggled for another breath. “Da… there’s a fire… come quick.”

  Just as the earl got back in his seat, the carriage pitched forward once again and raced towards Dormer House.

  As they emerged from the canopy of trees, large plumes of smoke engulfed the west side of their grand home.

  Henry watched helplessly as fire raged from within, destroying the only real home he’d ever known. All the memories of his early years with his mother. He hoped that everyone was out safely.

  A group of servants huddled together on the front drive, watching feebly as their livelihood went up in flames. The countess had abandoned her cool facade and was somewhat hysterical, clutching Miss Barnsby like a sobbing child.

  What of his half sister and stepbrother?

  Clear away from danger, Edmund sat on a trunk that he’d clearly managed to salvage but made no motion to assist anyone, especially his frantic mother.

  What an absolute waste of a human being.

  Just as the carriage reached the group Henry and his father hurried out, Henry forgetting his own injuries due to the shock before him.

  Through a thick cloud of smoke from the front door, Phoebus emerged rather heroically, covered in black soot and carrying Isobel’s limp body in his arms.

  “Isobel!” his father yelled and ran to relieve the butler of his daughter. “Oh, my darling dear. Henry!” The earl craned his head and searched behind him for his son. “Help me with your sister.”

  An acknowledgement of Henry’s gifts in the art of healing, a fact never before discussed between the two of them, sent Henry limping quickly to be of use.

  Isobel coughed and sputtered as she was laid on the ground. A blanket appeared from one of the servants.

  His anger towards his sister instantly dissipated as he took in her frail body.

  What in God’s name had transpired here today? This day had been without question the most trying of times.

  Was this woman friend or foe?

  Did it matter in this moment?

  Any servants or neighbors who were without injury and not suffering from shock took to the laborious job of carrying buckets to douse the growing flames. A job everyone knew was hopeless, but somehow it was better than staring at the spectacle.

  Isobel’s eyes fluttered open and locked onto Henry’s.

  “Henry…” she barely managed. “You are alive, thank goodness.”

  A bloom of fury shot through his person. What on earth was she playing at?

  “Emma,” she whispered. “She was here…I tried to stop her but I was too late.”

  And with her message delivered Isobel lost consciousness.

  Leaving Henry to deal with his father’s wrath.

  Realization hit him hard. Isobel was trying to implicate Miss Clayton in the fire.

  Her cool calculation sent chills up Henry’s spine. He knew in his core that Isobel was lying, but his father didn’t and proving it was going to be no small feat.

  Feelings of hatred soared through him in this moment. This little stunt had been her doing, he knew that without question.

  Of course he would do everything to save her, but not because he felt any affection towards her. Instead he relished the idea of exposing her for the fraud she was for the whole of England to see.

  He only hoped that he didn’t underestimate how clever she really was.

  Chapter 6

  Buxton

  I could hardly believe I was driving in England. The thought had only weeks ago been too terrifying to contemplate.

  And look where that got you.

  A smile tugged at my lips as I thought of Henry. I had yet to tell April about him. I felt like I should ease into it. After all, it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could just spring on a person.

  Oh, by the way, I’m in love with a man from the nineteenth century. I met him while time-traveling.

  No, first I needed to make a believer out of her before I could expect her to listen.

  April sat in the passenger seat, trying to set her phone’s navigation to Buxton.

  We’d taken the train to Manchester the day before and rented a car to drive south towards the village my mother had grown up in, from the few pieces I could remember. Hopefully there would be some remnants of this mysterious family still living there.

  The M67 was proving to be a picturesque drive, at least as far as I could tell from April’s ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’.

  “I had no idea it was so beautiful up here, Em. Oh, my God, look at the little sheep.”

  I allowed myself a quick sideways glance to see white balls of fluff dotting the hillside like melting snow.

  “What a pretty bird!” April said.

  “What bird?” I asked, daring another glance towards her.

  “That one.” She pointed out the passenger side window at a bird flying level with the car some twenty feet away. “Seems to be flying rather low, wouldn’t you say?”

  It looked like some kind of hawk with a significant wingspan as it sailed through the air at the same pace as the car. It looked similar to the one that we’d seen back in Foxford at the old cottage.

  “He is really pretty.” Odd that he was flying alongside of us like that. What kind of weird English bird was this?

  As far as I had read, Buxton was considered the gateway to the Peak District National Park. An old market town, it boasted a geothermal spring, a fact April had highlighted. In Victorian times, people had been drawn there for the healing properties of these springs. The town was set at a high elevation, looking out onto exquisite countryside.

  On any other occasion I too would be marveling over the beauty but at the moment my stomach was in a pile of knots over the task at hand.

  Why did I know so little of my mother’s family?

  Were they horrible?

  Would I even be able to track any of them down?

  Though it seemed like a long shot, even if I did manage to find them, would they be able to shed any light on this wayfarer thing?

  Two days ago April had dragged me inside from a storm that I’d hoped would swallow me back in time. Desperation and frustration had raged through me as the angry fingers of lightning moved continuously away. Why, when I had no reason to go, did it take me, and now that I wanted nothing more, it avoided me altogether? Where was that pull I wanted to feel vibrate through my body? Looking for my mother’s family was the only thing I could think to do.

  April, God love her, was concerned that I’d completely lost the plot.

  Even now she handled me with kid gloves.

  “Do you want to talk about stuff?” April asked cautiously, taking a break from the scenery. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, Em. I haven’t seen you this wound up since”—she hesitated a beat—“your dad died.”

  “I do have a lot on my mind. Things are really crazy.”

  “Yeah, I gather,” she said with a sigh. “Ben looked torn up when we left.”

  Of course April would bring things back to Ben. I didn’t think I could handle a lecture right now on how great he was. Obviously I wasn’t heartless, but honestly, what about my feelings? Did they not count for anything? Should I stay with a man just because he was a nice enough guy?

  “Hmm, are you getting hungry? Why don’t you find a good place in Buxton for lunch?” I knew setting April on a menial task would redirect her energy and get her off my case. She loved food, after all.

  You don’t get a booty like mine by depriving yourself of nutrients, she loved to joke.

  “Oh, oh, great idea. What are you in the mood for?”

  “Anything. You choose.”

  And just like that she was on to
TripAdvisor and lost to the wonderful world of the internet.

  “Wait till you see the hotel I booked. You’re gonna love it, Em.” She squealed and clapped her hands together in anticipation.

  I doubted that very much. I loved April but her poor taste was often a joke between us.

  As predicted, thirty minutes later we pulled up outside the Wild Boar Lodge.

  ‘Serving customers since 1732,’ the sign post said. The artificial head of a wild boar hung over the doorway. At least I hoped it was a fake.

  Our feathered friend perched on its tusk.

  That can’t possibly be the same bird.

  As soon as we crossed the threshold the overwhelming musty smell of mildew and old people assaulted us.

  “Seriously?” I said to April, who was already gushing over the fuzzy orange cat sprawled out on one of the armchairs.

  “Oh, Em, isn’t this place great?” April said with no amount of humor. “They even have a resident cat.”

  I hated cats. Not just because I’d recently discovered I was allergic—I’d come to realize that the feeling was often mutual. As if on cue, the cat narrowed its eyes and hissed at me.

  Awesome.

  “This should be fun.” My tone was laced with sarcasm.

  She ignored me completely and cuddled the cat in her arms. “Aren’t you the cutest thing,” she said in her animal-tamer voice.

  An older gentleman with a wiry frame got up from his seat at the bar, which was on one side of the lobby, and walked towards the front desk with an uneven gait.

  “Hiya!”

  “Hi,” I said. “We have a room booked.”

  “Let me ’ave a look then, luv.” He pulled small reading glasses from his cardigan pocket. “What’s the name?”

  “April Hunt.”

  “No, I’ve not got that here.”

  Relief washed over me. “Oh, well, no worries, we’ll just…”

  “It’s no mither, luv, I’ve just had a cancellation, I have.” He searched through a dusty old book. “Ah, there it is, you’ll have the Rose Room then.”

  “Sounds perfect!” April said over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Minutes later, April and I were standing in the smallest hotel room I’d ever seen.

  One full-size canopy bed dominated the entire room. The space was so narrow that we couldn’t even pass each other by the foot of the bed.

  At the far end, a small window hung in the middle of the wall, offering only a splash of light in the otherwise dreary room.

  “Well, it’s certainly cozy,” April said as if this was a good thing. “You don’t mind if I unpack my stuff, do you, Em? I really hate when things get all wrinkled.”

  “No, of course not.” I needed to get out of this tiny space. I was already feeling claustrophobic. “I’m gonna run across the street to get us some waters for the room. I’ll be right back and then we can go for lunch.”

  “Great idea,” she said while she started to unpack. “Can you grab me a pack of gum while you’re there?”

  “Sure.”

  I was relieved to get some fresh air.

  The hawk, which had been perched on the boar’s head, took to the sky and started circling above. A strange sight here in the middle of town. It was the kind of thing I’d see hiking at Griffith Park in L.A., but here, in this more urban environment, it looked ominous.

  Across from the hotel, there was a small grocery store of sorts. It seemed to sell a whole array of everything from meat and cheese to basic home supplies. While I perused the extensive biscuit display—something the English were apparently quite fond of—I felt the familiar tingle of someone watching me. At first, I simply ignored it. Small towns and villages were often places where foreigners stood out like sore thumbs.

  But when I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that someone was staring for far too long, I raised my eyes to meet this said offender. Maybe send this looky-loo on her way.

  A woman about my height in her early-forties, standing down the narrow aisle from me, dropped the eggs she was holding and stared at me with what I could only interpret as shock—jaw gaped open and the whole bit.

  My heart did an unusual beat. It was a strange feeling in my chest, something I’d never felt before.

  Instinctively, I looked around to see if she was seeing something that I had not yet noticed. Like perhaps a man with a gun? You know, being from L.A. and all, that was the first thing you were going to think, right?

  But there was no one but yours truly.

  “Ei… Eileen?” The woman sounded hoarse, like she was recovering from a cold.

  “Nooo,” I said cautiously. “You’ve got me mistaken for someone else.”

  “But you look…”

  “My mother’s name was Eileen though,” I said, mildly surprised myself by the strange coincidence. It must be a common name in these parts.

  “Eileen Farrar?” she said with a mix of hope and wonder.

  As she said the name, my entire body froze.

  Had she known my mother?

  I’d been in Buxton only ten minutes and already I felt like I’d found the needle in the haystack.

  I should have felt elated but instead I felt panicked. My heart was racing and my palms suddenly a sticky wet mess.

  “That was my mother, did you know her?”

  Ignoring the gooey mess at her feet, the woman walked over to me and threw her arms around me like she’d known me all her life.

  Forget the carefully measured restraint of the English, this woman, whom I did not know, engulfed me in an uncomfortably long bear hug, humming and sniffling in my ear.

  What the f…!

  When she did finally pull away, her eyes were like glossy marbles.

  “How did you know my…” I started to stammer.

  “She was my sister and you look so like her. Spitting image, I’d say.” She swatted away a few more tears and sniffed, pulling a tissue from her purse.

  This woman was my aunt?

  “Emma,” she said softly, “I only met you when you were a wee babe. You wouldn’t remember, of course.”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  “Oh, dear, where are my manners? I’m Emily. Emily Crouch. Very pleased to meet you.”

  Emily Crouch.

  Why did I know that name? Had my mother ever mentioned her? No, she’d never told me anything about her family, other than the fact that she had a sister.

  And then for the second time today my whole body felt a jolt.

  I did know of an Emily Crouch.

  Miss Crabtree’s lover.

  And, apparently, my aunt.

  Chapter 7

  Birds

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” April hesitated when she stepped out of the car.

  “It’s the address she gave me.” My own uncertainty settled in.

  The house in question was Emily’s. It appeared to be very old and quite tucked away off the beaten track. Hidden, in fact.

  Vines had swallowed the house entirely and to any passers-by—I doubted there were ever any—it looked completely abandoned.

  And haunted, the voice in the back of my head screamed.

  “Suddenly your dad seems like the shining jewel of the family,” April joked. “I’m starting to think there was a very good reason your mother kept you away from here.”

  Me too, the voice in my head agreed.

  I was glad April had insisted on coming with me. At first I hadn’t been sure it was a great idea. Many of the things I hoped to discuss with Emily were not topics I’d yet broached with April. Especially the wayfarer thing. I still had so many questions about that myself. No sense in bringing it up until I knew how to explain it properly. And there was no guarantee that I could even travel again. The thought of never seeing Henry again tore at my heart. He would never meet his child or even know of its existence. No, I would do anything to find a way back.

  “April, I need you to do something for me,” I said.

&nbs
p; “Of course. Anything, Ems. But the one thing I won’t do is let you go in there on your own, so don’t even think of asking,” she said with a stern expression.

  “Hell, no. What I need you to do is suspend your disbelief. My family has quite a few secrets, as it turns out.” We both glanced at the house at the same time. “You’re going to hear things, things that will seem ridiculous, but try to reserve judgment,” I pleaded with her.

  “Honestly, Em, I’m offended that you’d…”

  “I mean it.”

  “Yes, sure. I will be there as your pillar of support only.”

  I gave her a skeptical look.

  “Pinky-promise,” she finally said and we both cracked a smile.

  “Perfect!”

  The stone path beneath my feet looked worn. Weeds poked their intrusive limbs through the cracks. Like the house, everything looked old and tired. Even the rose garden looked laden with thorns instead of flowers, another sign that an early fall was just around the corner.

  My hand rested on the large metal knocker. It was in the shape of a cat, a long curved tail hanging down in an S shape.

  Great! Emily was a cat person.

  One hard knock.

  April and I exchanged a nervous look that said, No turning back now.

  Emily answered the door in a red flowered muumuu. Birkenstocks worn with socks. Ahhh, the comfortable shoes. Ben had always referred to lesbians as women with comfortable shoes. Maybe he had a point.

  Again, my heart did that funny beat when I first saw her. Like a double beat.

  That was strange. Could it have anything to do with meeting another wayfarer?

  “Emily, this is my friend April,” I said gesturing towards my friend.

  “Hiya, lovely to meet you, and who’s the little guy?” she said, looking past April.

  “Who, what?” Confusion took center stage.

  Okay, maybe this was a bad idea. She was mentally ill, wasn’t she? Schizophrenic maybe?

  “That little guy on your car.” She gestured towards the drive where we’d parked.

  Now much closer, the hawk was a large redish-brown bird, perched on the hood of my car. His talons made a tiny clicking sound as he slid on the smooth surface.