I searched my mind for how that was even possible.
“Could Mr. White have gone to Mr. Jacob’s and shot him before finding us together?”
“That would be my assumption, except that without this Mr. White, the guilt, I’m afraid, has fallen solely on you.”
“What about Isobel? What does she have to say for herself?”
“When we returned to Dormer House it was ablaze. The fire consumed the entire house. Isobel was pulled from the ashes barely hanging on to life, or so it seemed to everyone. She made mention that she’d seen you there moments before—”
“She’s lying.”
“I know, Emma,” he said, his hand rising to quell my temper like one would approach a spooked horse. “But again, how can it be proven? Even Phoebus has corroborated her fiction. It’s difficult for my father to believe that his only daughter would go to such extremes, he doesn’t believe her capable of such deception. He finds her a little too simple-minded for such an elaborate scheme.”
“We both know that’s not the case.”
Henry nodded agreement.
My hands ran through my hair, twirling it into a bun. The feel of it on my face and neck was grating on me.
“I don’t believe this,” I said to no one in particular, shaking my head.
All of a sudden a terrible thought occurred to me.
“What are your father’s terms?”
Henry looked away. I could tell he was avoiding eye contact.
“He demands that I abandon the notion of an attachment with you and…” He hesitated.
“And?”
“That I marry right away.”
My body instantly recoiled.
Then I did what any woman in my situation would do. I marched towards the bed, grabbed hold of the chamber pot which sat underneath it and threw up.
Chapter 26
Miss Crabtree
After several inquiries, Eileen found herself standing outside a beautifully situated townhouse in the upscale section of Oxwich.
Was Emily here?
According to the journal she’d skimmed through, Emily spoke often about a Miss Crabtree she’d been having a relationship with in this town and so Eileen had tracked the woman down.
Her journey had been long and stressful. First she’d made her way to Manchester London Road train station, where she’d caught a train to Southampton with a connection on to Oxwich.
Fortunately, Oxwich was a quaint little town, so she was able to walk it without difficulty.
Climbing the few steps up to the stone portico of the townhouse, she realized how exhausted she was and hoped that her journey would not be for nothing.
She tapped the large brass knocker and waited anxiously for someone to come to the door.
A medium-height butler with a barrel chest and round face opened the door.
“May I be of service, miss?” he asked, his posh accent evidence of his London upbringing.
“I’m looking for a Miss Crabtree. Would she be accepting visitors at this time?” Eileen said politely.
“Please come in and I will inquire.” He made a motion with his arm indicating which direction she should proceed.
“Thank you, sir.”
Eileen looked around the elegant receiving hall. Apparently, Miss Crabtree was a woman of means. That was a blessing.
The butler brought her to a beautiful parlor with pink wallpaper and gold-trimmed crown molding.
“Won’t you have a seat, madame, and I shall let Miss Crabtree know that a Miss…?” He let the question hang there.
“Redford. Miss Eileen Redford.”
“Miss Redford, may I offer you a cup of tea while you wait?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
She waited patiently, holding her small bag on her lap. The contents of the bag were the only evidence that she had of her sister being here. The mysterious letters from a Mr. William White to Isobel were still tucked into the book’s jacket. Of course she had also decided to hang on to Isobel’s letter to Mr. White just in case that should prove useful, although she had yet to break its seal, as that was a criminal offense.
Eileen wondered what had transpired in the wake of her absence in Mrs. Trebor’s home. She hated to do that to such a lovely woman, but it couldn’t be helped. Family was far more important and if her sister or daughter were in trouble she had to see to them first.
The door creaked open and a lovely young girl came in with a single serving of tea and homemade biscuits.
“Here’s your tea, miss,” she said, concentrating on her expert serving of it.
Eileen allowed her to finish before thanking her. The young girl looked up at her for the first time.
“It’s nice to see you again, miss. Let me know if you’ll be needing anything else.” She smiled at Eileen, recognition in her eyes.
She almost blurted out that the girl was mistaken, that they’d never met before, but thought better of it.
“Thank you.”
There was little resemblance between her and her sister, so who could the girl have mistaken her for?
Again the door opened and a petite woman in black walked in.
“Miss Redford, I apologize for keeping you waiting, but I find myself prone to afternoon naps of late,” she said, her white eyes glistening from moisture. Eileen could tell she was blind, yet she was able to move with such precision. She turned toward the butler, who was standing just inside the door. “George, you may leave us.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” He bowed and removed himself.
“Tell me, Miss Redford,” she said, settling into a chair next to Eileen’s. “How are you related to Miss Emma?”
Just like that Eileen’s blood went cold.
Her fears had been confirmed. She could no longer play ignorant. There was a world of trouble about to unfold.
She felt incredibly faint.
“Don’t get yourself in a panic. I may be blind but I am a very good listener.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Crabtree, but you have caught me off guard. I came here because I believed you to have a connection with my sister Emily, but I was not aware that you’d also known my daughter.”
The old woman seemed to take pause for a moment.
“Emily is your sister? And how did you know of my connection with Emily?” Miss Crabtree asked. “Did she speak of me? Is she well?” There was a hopeful tone in her voice.
“I was hoping you could answer that for me. As far as my knowledge of your friendship, I came upon her journal and you are mentioned in it several times. But Miss Crabtree, what do you know of my daughter?”
“I have only met your daughter twice. Once by chance and the other of her own doing. I passed on Emily’s journal to her in the hopes that it might be useful. She was trying to figure out how to get home.”
“She was here? When?” The urgency in Eileen’s voice mounted.
“A month back, but that, I’m afraid, is not the question you should be asking, my dear.” She coughed violently into a handkerchief. Specks of blood dotted the white linen. “What you should be asking is how you came to be in possession of that journal, because it was given to Emma.”
Isobel.
What had she done to Eileen’s daughter?
Chapter 27
Gone
Henry had gone to his room to drop his bag and wash up.
He was desperate for a shave. Perhaps he’d find a local barber to sort him out. When he woke this morning he’d been in no mood to mind such matters but now things were different. Not to mention the effects he’d noticed it had on poor Miss Clayton’s—Emma’s, he corrected—complexion, which was currently red and blemished.
Leaving her alone and vulnerable was the very last thing he’d wanted to do, but she’d assured him she was in no mood for company at present. She said she was feeling quite tired from her journey and wished to lie down.
Of course the least he could do was oblige her, even though the separation proved
to be quite arduous. Just being down the hall within earshot was causing him to feel rather distraught.
Now, as he sat here all alone waiting for a basin of warm water to be brought up, his mind continuously replayed their last exchange, each time leaving him with more anxiety.
He wished he’d not been forced into telling her about his father’s terms so quickly. Perhaps if she’d not surprised him with the news of a babe he would have been able to deliver the news more delicately.
Who was he fooling?
There was no delicate way to present such a conundrum.
He’d assured her she would have his protection and want for nothing. Any woman would see that as a fair offer under the circumstances. How could she not trust that he would do right by her? His heart would be hers forever no matter the course he was forced to take.
But still, he could see the hurt behind those lovely hazel eyes. The way she chewed her lower lip as she tried to process his reasoning.
What was he expected to do?
Going against his father now, with her newly returned, would surely land her in prison. His father was a most influential man and did not like being played for a fool. Henry needed to tread carefully.
If only there was a way to track down this Mr. White character. Surely Henry could persuade him to come clean and give a true account.
Unless of course Mr. White had done it for love. Love did make you act without reason, Henry knew that firsthand.
His hands felt bound and he could see no solution at present.
The rain had started coming down. Glancing out the window, he noticed the people on the street picking up their pace and taking shelter under store awnings.
His own mood was reflective of the gloom outside. Gray clouds grew thicker by the moment, indicating it was going to be a dreadful day.
And then Henry caught himself.
Only yesterday his life had been completely without Emma and he’d wondered how he would be able to even continue without being swallowed with despair.
However, today, she’d come back to him. Shouldn’t this be his time to rejoice and be grateful?
He could ill afford to surrender himself to a state of depression. There must be a way for their love to prevail.
Immediately a new sense of purpose flowed through him; he needed to convince her that all was not lost.
Most importantly, he needed to tell her how much he loved her and their child.
His spirits started to soar once again.
With his mind made up, it was imperative he speak with her immediately. He stepped out of his room and marched over to hers, prepared to scoop her up and make her his. They belonged together and no one was going to stand in their way.
He knocked on her door softly so that he didn’t wake her too suddenly.
When she didn’t answer he tried the knob. It clicked in his hand, giving way with a creak.
“Emma?” he whispered into the dark room. The curtain had been pulled closed, giving the impression of night.
“Emma, darling,” he said, nearing the bed.
But when he reached down towards the folds of covers there was no one there.
Quickly he threw the curtains open, flooding the room with a gray light.
She was gone.
So was her bag.
On the table, she’d left him a note.
Dearest Henry,
I love you more than life itself. I long to be with you, but not as your mistress or a kept woman you seldom see, but as your equal partner in life. Until such time as that would be possible I must leave you to avoid any further heartache for us both. Believe me, it is with a very heavy heart that I do so. The idea of you being forced into a marriage that you do not want torments me as much as it does you. Do not worry for me. I have plenty of money and do not require your help.
I love you madly and forever,
Emma
It felt as if someone had carved his heart out with a blunt utensil, perhaps a spoon.
This was madness.
Why couldn’t she just obey him and trust that he would fix this?
Did she not know how much he cared for her, how desperately he wanted to lose himself in her?
And what of their child?
Henry sat heavily in the chair, Emma’s note clutched in his hands like it was the only evidence he had of her existence.
He’d lost her.
Not because she had been taken.
She’d left him willingly.
Chapter 28
Family Matters
I was determined to stay strong.
Even though my eyes stung and tears threatened to come in torrents, I refused to allow it. Looking back towards the inn would certainly have weakened my resolve and made it impossible to leave.
A small voice in the back of my head pleaded with me to reconsider. Perhaps having him on his terms was better than not having him at all. But that was not the way I wanted to live my life.
There had to be a way to set things right again, but until then I would not stand on the sidelines and be under Henry’s protection. No matter how tempting it was.
If he was forced to marry before this mess was straightened out then so be it, but I would never be his mistress.
Leaving as I did in such a hurry, there was really only one place I could go.
Miss Crabtree.
The hansom cab bounced along the cobbled streets in the rain. Harold had managed to hitch a ride. The driver, not thrilled at the idea, had tried to swat him off until I insisted he was with me and offered him a few more shillings for his trouble. Blasted bird was not a fan of the rain, it seemed.
Within ten minutes we’d arrived.
George the butler greeted me at the door with a strange look of surprise, almost a double-take.
Harold perched in an old oak out front, his feathers bristling with agitation. Poor thing hated to be wet.
“Good afternoon, is Miss Crabtree in?”
“She is, miss, she’s presently with a visitor. Please do come in out of the rain,” he said, gesturing for me to enter. I flashed a quelling look to Harold as I went inside.
“Who might I say is calling?” the butler asked.
“Miss Clayton, sir,” I said, keeping it together but only just. The butler disappeared into the parlor.
Now that I knew my aunt’s relationship to Miss Crabtree, didn’t that make her an aunt of sorts?
Thoughts of Emily’s house in Buxton gave me an uneasy feeling. Hopefully she was safe.
It felt like ages ago. So much had happened since then.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, George, do have her join us,” Miss Crabtree all but shouted from the other room.
The butler emerged and indicated for me to come forward.
I dropped my bag at the door and walked briskly to the parlor. The need to see a familiar face was overwhelming.
When I passed through the doorway, I immediately spotted Miss Crabtree standing up to greet me. My heart did a double-thump and her visitor also stood with an expectant sort of expression.
It took another beat of stunned silence between all three parties before my brain started to piece it together.
I stared at the other woman, a strong current of recognition vibrating through my body, yet she also seemed a stranger.
Another wayfarer for sure.
“Emma?” the stranger said and rushed towards me. In that exact moment I knew her to be my mother.
“Mom?” How was this possible?
Our bodies crashed together in a tight hug.
Now the waterworks broke through the dam, both of us crying and hugging in disbelief.
She was exactly as I remembered her—I meant exactly, as if not a day had passed. In fact, she hardly even looked older than me now.
I didn’t understand. Where had she been all these years? Why hadn’t she come back to me?
“Look at you,” my mom said, pulling back to look me over. “Emma, you are all grown up.” Tears streak
ed her face.
Had I died? Was this heaven? I’d had several dreams in the past where I’d discovered my mom alive and well only to wake to a different reality.
A sense of dread flooded me as I considered that I might wake from this and find none of it real.
“This is a dream.” It was said more as a statement. A sad realization.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Miss Crabtree offered. “If it were I’d no longer be blind.”
Good point.
“Mom, we thought you were dead! All this time…” I broke off because I didn’t know what to say or how to feel. Part of me was thrilled to see her and the other part felt a sting of anger for not having come back to me in the first place, letting me grieve for her all those years. I didn’t know which to indulge first.
Miss Crabtree, perhaps sensing my own confusion, took charge.
“Please sit down, dear, there is much to be discussed. You mustn’t jump to any conclusions until you hear your mother out.” She walked over to a little lever by the door and pulled it. “I’ll have Annabel bring up some tea and cakes.”
At the suggesting of food my stomach grumbled. I’d eaten two protein bars on my way over just to ward off the nausea.
“Thank you, Miss Crabtree,” I said, walking towards the petite woman and giving her an all-American display of gratitude, folding her into a big hug.
We all took our seats, my mother unable to take her eyes off me.
“Emma, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, all these years,” my mother started. “I never meant for this to happen. I know you must have a lot of questions—”
“You bet I do,” I fired back. “It’s been tough, Mom. Dad pretty much lost it.”
There was a moment of hesitation before my mom spoke.
“I’m sure it was difficult on you both, but when I left you, you were only eight years old and that was one month ago. How old are you now?”
“I’m twenty-four.” I was still trying to process what she’d just said. “So you’re saying that for you, you’ve only been away for a month.”
She nodded.
What age did that make her then? Thirty?
Okay, this was weird.
The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2) Page 11
