“Any word from anyone?” Emma fished.
“By anyone, do you mean Henry?” There, she’d answered her question with a question. Best way to avoid telling a lie.
“Well, I just thought he would have at least come looking for me. He’s a smart man, he would have figured out that I’d come here. Where else would I have gone?” Emma sounded disappointed.
“Did you leave him so that he’d come looking for you or did you leave because you wanted more than he could offer you?”
“A little of both, I suppose.” Emma sighed. “I know that must sound crazy to you. Mom, why is this so hard?”
Emma flopped down on the opposite chair and curled her legs up under her, like she always used to do as a child. It was refreshing to see that some things stayed the same.
“Because you love him and I’m sure he loves you too.”
“Maybe. Obviously not enough to talk me out of leaving him.” There was a strong note of bitterness in her voice.
“Well, that may be so, but it may also just mean that he agrees with your decision. Maybe Henry felt torn between loyalties. Sometimes setting a person free is the best way to know if they are truly yours.” Eileen thought of Charles and wondered what his life was like now. Had he moved on like nothing had happened? As she’d done so many times already, she wondered if she should write to him. A big part of her craved to do so now that she was not in a hurry to go back to Emma. Would that cause too much turmoil for everyone? What if he had a large, beautiful family and didn’t wish to acknowledge them in his life? That was the likely turn things would take.
She had to stop tormenting herself.
“I’m sure you’re right. I’d still like to know that he was pining for me though.”
“And what purpose would that serve?”
“I’d feel better.”
“Would you though? Knowing that loving you caused him pain?”
“Not when you put it like that. And just for the record, Dad was destroyed when you left. He became a raging alcoholic and was a ghost of himself until Maggie came along.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Eileen said without real emotion. “Who’s Maggie?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Dad remarried a few years back. It helped a bit.”
See, people do move on, she told herself. It didn’t bother her that he’d remarried—in fact she was grateful for it. She knew she’d never loved him the way she should have. But it also reaffirmed her belief that Charles was most likely grateful that she’d made that tough choice years ago. What kind of life would Emma have now if she hadn’t? She studied Emma and was surprised to see Charles’ eyes.
For a moment, she considered telling Emma the truth about her real father, but she felt that Emma had enough to deal with. Knowing how headstrong Emma was, she’d most likely go seek him out and that could be a disaster.
A bastard child seeking out her birth father was bad enough, but for one in his position it was a much greater scandal.
Eileen squashed that idea before it blossomed.
“I’m happy for him then.”
“So, Mom, not to change the subject, but I was wondering—”
“Oh, dear,” Eileen teased.
Emma smiled at her. “Why do all our names begin with E? Yours, your sister’s, your mother’s and mine.”
“Well, as far as my mother told me, there were five original wayfarers and when they had their children, especially daughters, they always used the first letter of their name. Men passed on their surnames but we passed on the first letter.”
“What family does the A come from? Because I came across one and—”
“What do you mean? Where?”
“When I tracked down your sister in Buxton, the next day when I went to meet with her, her house had been broken into and a private security team was there. They said police had been called but I don’t think that was true. There was another wayfarer there. She was odd-looking. Her skin and hair were white and her features were…” Emma seemed to struggle to find the right word. “I don’t know, androgynous. That’s when Emily texted me to run. It was terrifying.”
“What does that mean, she texted you?”
“Oh, right, from her phone, she sent me a written message, you know, with the key pad.”
Eileen had never seen such a thing. Her phone only displayed numbers but that right now was the least of her concerns.
Emma then told her about that same wayfarer named Alex tracking her down in Oxwich.
How had they found Emma?
“Do you think they were looking for something?” Emma asked.
Eileen thought of the charm her mother had always worn on the end of a leather string. She’d been told that it was very old and that paired with its mate it was also very powerful. Not that she really believed such tales. It was all folklore, she suspected. Her mother did always have a flair for stories.
“Could be, my mother had always been fond of her little treasures,” Eileen said dismissively. Her real concern was not for trinkets but the safety of her daughter.
“Like this?” Emma said, pulling something from inside her dress.
Eileen gasped when she saw her mother’s necklace.
“Where did you get that?”
“From your sister, the day before her house was broken into. Why?” Emma’s own concern mirrored Eileen’s.
“Darling, this is very important. Did this other wayfarer see you?”
“What do you mean? I don’t think she did, not in Buxton anyway, but I imagine she may have when I ran past her in Oxwich, but she was rather distracted at the time.”
“Distracted?”
“Well, Harold had flown into the house and dive-bombed her.”
“Who’s Harold?”
“My bird. He’s been following me for a while and Emily said that he’s my spirit animal.”
Ahhh… Emily loved to tell tales, Eileen thought, and rolled her eyes.
“But your face, did she see your face, enough to know what you look like?” Eileen asked again, more serious.
“No,” Emma said without conviction. “I don’t think so.”
Eileen hoped not.
“That’s good, you should be safe then.”
“‘Should be’ is not a comfort, Mom. What should I be safe from?” Emma pulled the necklace from her neck. “This is yours, your sister wanted you to have it.” She handed it to her mother. “I’m afraid it’s broken though.”
Eileen held it in her palm with trepidation. “Thank you.”
“So what does all this mean? Why would someone be searching Emily’s and trying to hurt me?”
“There has long been a feud of sorts between two of the wayfarer families. Ours and that of the A line.”
“What’s the feud about?”
“I don’t think any of the surviving wayfarers even know. This has been going on for centuries. Most likely it’s about knowledge and powers.” She could feel the necklace in her palm and wondered if this was what they had been searching for. “Emily believed that they were involved in some shady deals but I never thought there was any truth to it. However, hearing your story about this Alex, I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Why was it important that she not see my face?”
“When we see something and have a strong visual we imprint onto it. If she’d imprinted on you then she could find you more easily.”
“Could you do that with a picture? Imprint, I mean.”
“Possibly.”
“I think that’s how I ended up here in the first place. I’d seen this portrait of a man at Dormer House and the next day I traveled.”
“That would be Henry?”
“Yes.” Emma looked towards the window as if she might somehow catch a glimpse of him now.
The letter was burning a hole in Eileen’s pocket. Should she give it to Emma? But what if it led to worse heartache? Eileen had been there. She remembered that the hardest part was always taking that first step. Emma had made a wi
se choice and Eileen was proud of her for it. Why make it any harder on her? Once this baby came, Emma would be free to leave if she wanted, as Eileen herself had done.
Miss Crabtree suddenly materialized at the door, dressed in her signature black outfit.
“Ah, Miss Emma, your letter to Henry has been returned. It seems he is no longer staying at the Crown and Anchor. Would you like me to forward it somewhere else?”
Eileen saw the disappointment register in Emma’s eyes. She hadn’t known that Emma had sent him a letter.
“Thank you, Miss Crabtree, that won’t be necessary. I’m going to head into London tomorrow morning.”
Eileen looked at her daughter in shock. She can’t be serious.
“Whatever for?”
“Because if William White is there I’m going to find him.”
“Do you think that wise, dear?” Miss Crabtree asked, mimicking Eileen’s concern.
“Probably not, but I’m not going to sit around and allow the love of my life to slip through my fingers.”
“In your state though, dear, should you be traveling?” Miss Crabtree took the words right out of Eileen’s mouth.
“I’m pregnant, not sick,” Emma said to them both.
In that moment Eileen saw Charles, passionate and stubborn.
She hoped that wouldn’t be her daughter’s undoing.
Chapter 32
Wrong Side of Town
Henry had been given a name. Walter Pluckrose.
Apparently, Mr. White had been dealing with some unfavorable sorts. One of the young lads, Mr. Sam Clarke, at Heany, Blake and Sons had stumbled upon Mr. White and Mr. Pluckrose meeting at one of the less notable establishments in town.
Mr. Clarke told Henry that he’d remembered Mr. Pluckrose from an earlier case involving a battery charge, of which he had been acquitted despite the overwhelming knowledge that he was a guilty man. While the law firm celebrated that victory, Mr. Clarke remembered feeling fraught with disgust. This Pluckrose character was without question a man of ill repute.
Mr. Clarke believed that there was a high probability that Mr. White was still connected to Mr. Pluckrose, who now lived in London’s East End.
Henry descended the outdoor steps of his Primrose Hill townhouse with purpose and entered the waiting carriage.
He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning, nor was he wearing his best clothes. He’d decided that it would be wise not to look like a lord of anything, just a plain man, if he was going to do his detective work.
Another helpful bit of information that Mr. Clarke had shared—reluctantly, for fear of retribution—was that Mr. White seemed to be doing a little forgery on the side. When Mr. Clarke had first noticed an issue with one of their clients’ accounts, he’d brought it to Mr. White’s attention only to receive a threat upon his person. He was told that if his suspicions were ever shared he would suffer significant harm. The exact nature of that harm was not revealed, but Mr. Clarke was not about to put it to the test for curiosity’s sake.
There was a small thrill of excitement Henry felt being in the midst of trying to apprehend a felon. Perhaps he had missed his calling. After only two days in London, he had managed to locate this Mr. Pluckrose. He’d been given the name of an establishment where on most days Mr. Pluckrose took supper.
His only goal was to track down Mr. White so that he might lay to rest the accusations against Emma. He cared not for revenge against the man, only for him to accept accountability.
Perhaps that would be a tall order.
The carriage rattled down the busy London streets. Autumn was such a beautiful time of year. The leaves on the trees had already started to change and the rotten smells from the summer heat had finally lifted.
Of course, most of London was still in turmoil over the recent cholera outbreak in August. Those who could had departed for the country or other parts of England, leaving the streets a little less cluttered with people and carriages.
Soon his carriage passed the fine London establishments and came to a less attractive part of town, where dirt and filth polluted the streets and the inhabitants looked worn and weathered. He tried to remember if he’d ever even been to these parts.
Most decidedly not.
He tapped his cane on the ceiling of the carriage and the driver pulled off to the side.
Henry decided that he would make the rest of the way on foot. If he was going to keep up appearances he could hardly be seen arriving in an expensive carriage.
“Thank you, sir, I’ll make my own way from here.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour and a quarter.”
“Very well, my lord.”
The carriage drove off and he continued in a brisk walk.
A middle-aged woman wearing a stained dress and whose bonnet had certainly seen better days approached him.
“Sir, can you spare a bob?” The woman reached out towards him.
“Certainly, madame,” Henry said as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a few shillings.
“Is that it then?” she said with a note of surprise. “What if I give you a little sumfin’ else, would you loosen your pulse strings a little more?”
He physically recoiled at the proposition.
“That won’t be necessary, madame, I assure you.”
He dropped a few extra coins in her palm and walked off as fast as his injured leg could take him. Other woman of similar ilk had taken notice and seemed to be forming their own plan.
Perhaps his idea of dressing down had not gone exactly to plan. He removed his beaver skin top hat—an oversight, he thought—and offered it in exchange with another man wearing a dark bowler hat.
After he ruffled his hands through his hair in an attempt to give himself a more disordered appearance, he placed the questionable hat upon his head and carried on.
He dreaded to think it could have lice. Oh, to what lows I have sunk, he thought with a hint of humor.
Walking into the dingy drinking establishment, he spotted Mr. Pluckrose immediately. Mr. Pluckrose was a large man with a ghastly appearance, ravaged by childhood disease. His face bore the scars from the pox like craters on the moon’s surface.
“Mr. Pluckrose?” Henry said when he neared him.
“And what’s it to the likes of you?”
“Edward…”—he hesitated a moment on what surname to give—“Bromsgrove, sir, I was told I could find you here.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Bromsgrove. What’s your business?”
“May I sit with you, sir?” Henry gestured to the seat next to him. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“I’m not interested, so shove off.”
“Might I beg an audience for just one moment before giving me your verdict?”
“I suppose if you must, but I’m keeping a low profile these days, I am.”
“Very well, sir.” He sat down before the man could change his mind.
The barman approached him. “What’ll it be for you, sir?”
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Although once the words were out Henry wondered if that was a decision he would come to regret. The smell alone was rather distasteful, but his main objective was to blend in.
“So, Mr. Pluckrose, I am in need of a forger and I have come to understand that you may have one in your acquaintance.”
“Possibly.” Mr. Pluckrose sized Henry up with squinty eyes. “What’s it for?”
“That I’m afraid I cannot say.” Henry was not good at lying under pressure. He found it difficult to think like a criminal. Perhaps the less said the better. “But if you are able to provide me one, especially one with a generous understanding of law, you would be well rewarded for the introduction, let me assure you.”
Mr. Pluckrose drained his glass and contemplated his decision.
“How much compensation are we talking?”
“Ten—”
“Twenty pounds,” Mr. Pluckrose stated with confidence.
&
nbsp; Henry stopped himself from gasping.
“Very well, sir, but I need the introduction today.”
“Nope, can’t do that. Meet me tomorrow at the Queen’s Arms near Covent Garden and you’ll have your man.”
“His name, sir? May I ask this gentleman’s name?”
“He’s no gentleman as far as I know, but his name is White.”
“Perfect, sir, I shall see you at noon at the Queen’s Arms.”
“One o’clock, Mr. Bromsgrove, I don’t wake until noon.”
“Of course, nor do I if I can help it.” A gross exaggeration. Henry was up at seven most days.
Henry felt pleased with himself. He was going to get to Mr. White and straighten this whole mess out.
The barman slid his drink down in front of him. Henry had almost forgotten he’d ordered it.
“Your drink, sir,” the barman said with a smirk.
“Thank you kindly,” Henry said with a distinct lack of confidence. The smell was horrific.
Mr. Pluckrose gave him a nod of encouragement. He took the glass and gave it a go.
Immediately the revolting flavor of pine tar assaulted his palate with burning fury and it took every muscle in his throat to swallow the offending liquid.
“It’ll put ‘airs on your chest, it will,” Mr. Pluckrose affirmed with admiration.
Yes, it most certainly will, Henry thought.
Chapter 33
Stake Out
Once I realized that the address was a pub my conviction faltered. It was not Mr. White’s home as I’d hoped.
My mother had decided to tag along for support, but I wasn’t sure that she was very helpful in keeping my morale boosted.
“You see, Emma, as I’ve said, this was not a good idea.”
“Mom, I know, but what else am I supposed to do?” I actually didn’t want her to answer that because I knew exactly what she’d say. “Never mind. We’re here and he obviously uses this place to receive letters, so I will stick around and see if he shows up.”
Covent Garden was a busy market area. Rows and rows of produce filled every space. Women sat on the sidelines shelling walnuts by the basketful. Horse-pulled wagons forced their way through crowds of people milling about gossiping.
The Wayfarer's Daughter: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 2) Page 13
