Tears pricked and stung at my eyes.
Everything else faded away.
April’s hand curled into my own, her gaze meeting mine. Both of us a teary mess.
We would be fabulous lesbian parents!
Now I sat in the chair of our Airbnb drinking my eighth glass of water, a large bottle of prenatal vitamins beside me.
April had gone out to get some food. I found that if I kept eating the nausea never got too bad.
In the corner of the living room sat my travel bag, everything I could carry into the nineteenth century with me.
It was just enough to get by, but April and I had put a lot of thought and research into it.
Now it sat there almost mocking me and my inability to actually go.
Channel my spirit animal. That was what Emily had said. What that meant exactly I did not know.
Since leaving Buxton I’d tried my aunt’s cell many times but all I got was her voicemail. None of my texts were answered either. I hoped that she was somewhere safe. Maybe she’d even traveled back in time to meet Miss Crabtree.
April and I had been following the news of her disappearance on television. When she hadn’t shown up for work they had sent police to her house. For now it was considered suspicious and they had pleaded for anyone with information to come forward.
I was too afraid to do that.
And I didn’t really have any helpful information, now did I?
Excuse me, Mr. Policeman, well, she’s actually a wayfarer so she could have gone anywhere in time or someone is most likely hunting her down. Hope that narrows things down for you.
Saying anything could also expose myself and that was the last thing I wanted.
Ever since the call from that strange Alex person, my nerves had been quite frayed.
What did that person want? How had she found me?
Did she know something about Emily?
All I had to do was remember the way the last phone call had gone and shivers raced up my spine.
Harold cried out and my body immediately tensed.
Jesus Christ, bird!
Again, I contemplated the usefulness of a bird. A bear, a wolf or even a horse would serve me better.
I stood and peeked outside. A dark sedan was making its way up the drive.
That was odd. I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone.
I’d seen Ben yesterday. He’d brought me a few of my things. It was more of an excuse to see me, I thought. What was I going to do with an old handkerchief of my mother’s? Yes, it was pretty and had some sort of old family crest on it but it wasn’t the real reason for the visit. I had shoved it in my travel bag anyway, a memento of her. Despite my confession about Henry, Ben seemed determined to win me back.
The car finally parked and a tall person wearing a flat cap got out and looked up to the sky. It was impossible to tell if it was male or female.
It was the pale nature of the skin that jolted me into recognition.
Alex!
Alarm shot through me.
Harold sounded the alarm once again.
Hide. That was the only thing I had time to do. With shaky legs I scrambled into one of the deep armoires in the bedroom.
I cursed the English and their distinct lack of proper closets.
With exaggerated deep breathing I tried to steady the thumping in my chest.
There was a musty smell from the old blankets which permeated the small space. The wood creaked beneath my weight.
Again, not easy to fit a five-foot-eight frame into one of these puppies. A pregnant one at that.
My visitor pounded on the door twice.
I hoped that the lack of movement within the house would tell them that no one was home.
Of course, like a calling card, Harold shrieked again. If she was a wayfarer then Harold had definitely just blown my cover.
The door knob rattled and then stopped.
Would they just leave? I wondered hopefully.
Breaking glass answered that question.
Now the true feeling of danger took hold. Before it was only an inkling but now their intentions were more clear. This person wished me harm.
But why?
I reached back into my jeans pocket and pulled out my pocket knife. Since my time in the nineteenth century I found that I felt better having a weapon handy. My time in Buxton had further confirmed that being a wayfarer was a dangerous thing and arming myself was a necessity. I would not get caught out again with the likes of Mr. Jacob.
Footsteps crunched over the broken glass as my intruder walked in.
I was a bit of a sitting duck.
Perhaps I’d underestimated their level of motivation to get to me. I would not make that mistake again.
My heart raced in my chest, threatening to explode. How much of this could I take?
A tiny sliver of light penetrated into my armoire and I slowly shifted my eye towards it, looking for the intruder.
Big mistake.
The moment my eyes rested on her lily-white skin my heart did a double beat and her head swiveled immediately towards my hiding place.
Alex felt me too.
Should I burst through the doors and take her by surprise?
I had to do something.
Another beat and it would be too late.
A loud screech penetrated the house and a feathery mass tore into the bedroom and attacked the intruder.
That’s my bird!
Using this as a perfect distraction, I leapt from my hiding space, grabbed my travel bag and sped from the house, running for my life.
On my tail was Harold and a few other stragglers he’d picked up along the way.
With blind determination I ran down the lane and crashed through the bushes into the neighbor’s field.
My phone grasped tight in my hand, I didn’t dare stop to text April.
There wasn’t time. I needed distance.
I wasn’t sure how much damage the birds were able to inflict, but I knew it wasn’t enough to stop Alex.
I ran until my legs could run no more. My body collapsed on the ground, my breathing ragged and unsteady. The smooth surface of the antique whistle I wore around my neck brushed against my chest and a thought popped into my head.
I pulled it to my lips and blew as hard as I could, but not even the tiniest sound could be heard. It seemed to be broken.
I closed my eyes and thought of Henry. A swell of emotion tore through me.
My chest continued to heave as I struggled to catch my breath, and when I opened my eyes I noticed a dark blotch in the sky.
The blotch grew and grew. Soon it covered the sun completely. Was it a daytime eclipse?
Then the blotch appeared to be moving.
Towards me.
Was it one of those insect infestations or swarms I’d read about?
As it drew closer, I could make out wings and feathers.
Was it an angry flock of birds?
I immediately called to mind the old Hitchcock movie Birds. It was a terrifying sight.
Where was Harold?
Nowhere. Had he joined them?
Treacherous bird… I thought you were on my side?
I stood with my bag clutched to my bosom, ready to beat them away if need be, my heart hammering in my chest with trepidation. All of a sudden the vibration struck me with a certain amount of force. It hummed throughout my body right into my fingertips. I closed my eyes and felt the charged feeling of electricity.
What the…?
It grew steadily to a fevered pitch. My hands literary glowed from it.
Just like that, the birds enveloped me in their energy. Their frantic wings beat against my head with feather softness, like a massive down duvet folding around me. I felt my feet lift slightly off the ground before I started to freefall. A maelstrom of energy swirled around me threatening to tear me apart and then I slipped into the darkness.
Chapter 17
Kindness
Isobel tucked Will
iam’s letters into the journal for safekeeping.
Stupid man. He’d fled to London and was urging her to join him so that they might be married. Was he really that daft? Surely he must know that a woman like her could never be prevailed upon to marry his sort.
Not to mention the botched job. How had he not heard that Henry had lived?
Honestly, he’d lost his mind completely.
She knew that she must tread carefully with William’s fragile ego. Prolong his affections long enough to dispose of him completely. Otherwise, who knew what he was capable of.
Decision made. She would write him a love letter. That should do the trick.
Perhaps some creativity would help ease some of her boredom. Miss Redford’s company had become quite tiresome. There wasn’t a mischievous bone in her body. She must have secrets waiting for discovery.
Isobel had hoped the journal itself would reveal some sort of dark secrets, but as far as she could tell it was mere fiction. A story perhaps for children. Who’d ever believe in a person falling through time? Only a few pages in she’d quickly lost interest. Maybe she’d pick it up again if boredom forced her hand.
What other diversions were there?
Mrs. Trebor had had a dinner party for her last week and despite her own gifts of conversation, she’d found it a tedious experience. Everyone had crowded around Miss Redford like she was the special guest. There was nothing special about her—in fact, her piano forte was positively mediocre at best.
There was a low knock at the door and then it opened.
“Ah, sorry, madam, I did not think you were in here.” A young pretty maid bowed her head and made to leave.
Isobel bristled at the prospect. “Don’t trouble yourself, sweet girl, do come in.” Isobel gestured for her to enter. The maid was only a few years younger than Isobel herself.
“I’ve come to fetch the washing, is all.” She hesitated by the door, not sure if she should walk into the room.
“Take what you need, I’m on my way down to breakfast,” Isobel said as she rummaged on the dresser for some jewelry.
“Thank you, madam, I’ll be but a moment.” The young maid scurried in, taking a cloth bag from the armoire.
Isobel picked up an emerald ring circled with diamonds.
“What is your name, girl?”
The young maid hesitated—she wasn’t used to being addressed by a woman of Isobel’s station.
“Clara, ma’am, after me grandmother.”
“Clara, what do you think of this ring?”
“Oh… I wouldn’t much know, ma’am, I’ve never seen such a beautiful piece,” she said with a shy smile tugging at her lips. “No one’s ever asked me such a thing.”
“Well, I don’t care for it much, Clara, do you think you might want it?”
“Madam?”
“I would like to give it to you.” Isobel smiled at the girl, who now looked just about in tears.
“I’m not sure I could accept such—”
“Nonsense, Clara, you are a pretty girl and deserve to have beautiful things.”
Reluctantly Clara took the ring that Isobel placed in her hand.
“That is very kind of you, ma’am, are you sure that…”
“I am sure,” Isobel said, feeling in that very moment like she could be a kind person when she wanted.
Clara left carrying the bag of washing.
Isobel turned and smiled to herself in the looking glass.
Mirror, mirror, she thought wickedly.
Isobel decided to write her love sonnets to William quickly before she went downstairs. She couldn’t be tasked with such a thing on a full stomach.
Chapter 18
Lost and Found
Eileen wished for a latte, a double, extra foam. She’d drunk so much tea these past few weeks she wanted something different.
Everyone was already seated to breakfast, with the exception of Lady Isobel. As usual, she was making her grand entrance but this time looking rather distressed.
Eileen did not trust her. Certainly not further than she could throw her.
In fact, it was worse than that—Eileen had watched her carefully since her arrival and believed that her supposed illness was an elaborate fiction.
Why would Isobel do such a thing?
Apparently, she’d suffered damage to her lungs as a result of smoke inhalation and needed to come here to convalesce, yet she seemed perfectly fine. Only when someone made mention of her great progress did she all of a sudden have a bout of coughing.
Was it attention she sought? Eileen’s assumption would be that as the daughter of an earl there was no shortage of it. So why come here? The doctors in the south were just as capable, she would have thought.
“Good morning, Lady Isobel,” Mr. Trebor said in his usual jolly tone. He had a very kind disposition.
“Oh, cousin,” Isobel said to Mrs. Trebor, ignoring Mr. Trebor completely. “I’m afraid I cannot find my ring. It is very dear to me. My grandmother left it to me when she passed.”
“I’m sure it will turn up. We can all have a look for it, dear, don’t fret about it,” Mrs. Trebor tried to soothe her.
“That’s just it, cousin, it never leaves my room for fear that it might get lost. It is very precious and quite expensive.” Isobel was near hysterics.
Eileen knew better than to interfere. Normally she would offer to have a look but she wasn’t sure that would be a good idea.
“Come, come, my dear.” Mrs. Trebor patted the chair beside her. “Have some food and all will be well, you’ll see.”
Mr. Trebor rolled his eyes. He didn’t care for Isobel’s theatrics.
“I believe one of the maids has taken it,” Isobel offered. “The young pretty one.”
Clara?
Eileen didn’t believe that for a minute. The girl was as honest as they came. Her uncle was the local vicar.
“You can’t be talking about Clara?” Mr. Trebor piped up.
“Do you call me a liar, sir?” Isobel said rather rudely. “I suggest you wait before you judge someone’s character so quickly.”
Ahhhh…. there it was, that tone of entitlement. The daughter of an earl.
“Well, I’ll look into the matter myself.” Mr. Trebor stood abruptly.
“Thank you, Mr. Trebor. I do appreciate your attention to the matter. My father too would be grateful to know how urgently you address my concerns.” It was said in a sweet tone, but its message was not at all like its delivery.
Just like that her comment was tainted with a threat, its sting not lost on Mr. Trebor.
Eileen imagined that he was cursing his wife for allowing this spoiled brat to stay with them.
With the matter presently dealt with, Isobel suddenly found herself ravenous.
“Eileen, I’ve got a letter to be posted, would you be so kind as to fetch it from my bedchamber and deliver it into town?” Isobel said as she buttered a sweet loaf.
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Isobel.” Eileen put her cutlery down and rose from her chair. She looked to Mrs. Trebor, who struggled to act as if nothing was amiss. “Please excuse me, ma’am.”
“Don’t you want to finish your bacon first?” Mrs. Trebor said out of concern.
“I’m quite done, I think, thank you.”
In more ways than one, she thought to herself.
She knew this could very well be her only chance to find that journal. Once she did, there would be no way for her to remain in Mrs. Trebor’s employ.
“Lady Isobel, have no fear that Mr. Trebor will deal with the matter at hand,” Mrs. Trebor said.
“I have no doubt, cousin. I should hate to think that he’d employ a thief willingly.”
As Eileen made her way upstairs, she could hear the soft cry of a young girl and knew it to be Clara. Mr. Trebor had undoubtedly caught her in possession of the ring and was now in the process of sacking her.
Poor girl. Her reputation would be ruined and she would go back to her family in sham
e.
Eileen didn’t know how Isobel had done it or why but she knew with certainty that it was her doing.
She would get the journal and leave this place for good.
Chapter 19
First Light
The smell of dirt and leaves was the first thing that I became aware of.
When I opened my eyes it was pitch black. As luck would have it, a new moon. I fumbled blindly through my bag and came up with my hand-cranked flashlight. April had thought herself a genius for that last-minute addition.
With a few quick squeezes, a faint light slowly grew brighter but never bright enough to be useful. At this rate I’d have carpal tunnel before long.
Bloody useless. I chucked it back in the bag.
A wave of nausea passed over me.
How long had I been out? I checked my phone. Four am. Well, my phone still worked.
I checked for messages but there were none. Nor did I have any bars. Had it worked? Had I made it back?
That was a good thing, right?
A mix of fear and excitement weaved its way through my mind.
What now?
I rummaged through my bag and came up with a protein bar. If I didn’t eat now the nausea would get worse.
The peanut butter-flavored bar was heaven to my taste buds. Sadly, peanut butter wouldn’t catch on for quite some time… especially in England. My mom, I remembered, thought it was disgusting. I, on the other hand, had been raised with the stuff. It was practically the national condiment in America.
Once I’d had my fill, I proceeded to dress in the dark. My jeans and sneakers I rolled up tight and stuffed it back in my bag. At least now I wouldn’t stand out.
It was a half-hour walk into Oxwich or a one-and-a-half-hour walk to Dormer House.
What would Henry say when I showed up at the door? Could I show up at, what, five-thirty in the morning?
Probably not. Neither could I drop in on old Miss Crabtree at such an hour.
Either way, I’d have to wait until first light.
There was a chill in the air, but at least it wasn’t raining. With my cashmere shawl pulled over me, I settled my head on my bag and tried to get some sleep.
In the morning I would find Henry and all would be well.
The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2) Page 8
