“Good day, luv,” said an older gentleman in a green apron, unloading some produce boxes. “Can I help you find anything?”
“No, thanks, I’m good. I just need a few things,” I said, digging into my purse for the list I’d scribbled earlier.
After a meandering tour of the store I had everything to get us started. I lingered at the jams and cheeses. Who knew there were so many variations of cheddar cheese? Even the fresh produce could hold its own against any of the L.A. farmers’ markets. And of course the bread choices in this small shop could easily rival some of our best bakeries back home. Without realizing, I killed twenty minutes deciding between the buttery taste of Hobnobs and digestive biscuits.
“That’ll be fifty-seven pounds and nine pence please.” The same clerk also ran the cash register. “Hope you brought your brolly. Looks like rain again.”
“Really?” The sun had been shining when I’d biked out here, but looking out, I realized the man was right. In the short time I’d been in the store the clouds had moved in and it was already starting to drizzle. “Bloody hell!” I blurted out, much to my horror. It was the curse my mother always loved to say—that and ‘Jesus Christ’. Once she was gone I’d found myself using it here and there. Not the sort of thing you expected to hear out of the mouth of an eight-year-old, and certainly it hadn’t gone unpunished, but in a strange way it always reminded me of her and so it had become my go-to phrase.
The clerk looked mildly scandalized. I blushed, and made a mental note to watch my potty mouth. It wasn’t even that bad a word. Imagine if I’d said ‘fuck’.
I would need to make a break for it before the heavens opened and the bread and cereal I’d just bought turned to soggy mush. Putting what I could in the basket and attaching the other two bags to the handlebars, I set off the same way I’d come.
Just as I got to the end of the high street the rain came down harder. Loud thunder clapped overhead and the sky lit up right on its heels. The storm was directly above. For a moment I was unsure whether to find shelter. If I hurried it wouldn’t take more than five minutes to get home but if I waited who knew how long it could last? I pulled my shawl over my head and sped up around the first corner.
Now on a winding country road, I pedaled as fast as I could, my feet slipping on the slick pedals. If only I’d accepted Ben’s offer of the car. How hard could it be to drive on the other side of the road? Thinking of that, I should probably switch to the opposite side of this road as I neared a blind corner. The tall hedges on either side made it impossible to see vehicles coming around the bend ahead. While the road was technically two lanes there was really only room for one car to pass.
No sooner had I made this realization than a car materialized right in front of me, leaving no time to react.
I was aware of the impact but I didn’t register any pain. My body was thrown through the air. The world spun around me in a blur. Again thunder clapped directly overhead. The whole sky lit up like the sun had burst through the clouds. My nose hairs burned with the smell of sulfur. Every inch of my body tingled from my toes to my fingertips, as if I had been standing on a train track moments before impact. It was a sort of vibration. There was a tugging sensation on my arm. The shrill sound of a panicked horse was the last thing I heard before the back of my head hit something hard.
Everything went black.
Chapter 5
A Ghost
The distant sound of horse hooves on a gravel road was the first thing I heard. A horse? Had I been hit by a horse or a car?
My eyes opened, but it took a while before they could focus. I found myself in a room that I didn’t recognize. Beige velvet wallpaper adorned the walls. The mahogany four-poster bed which I was lying in faced a marble fireplace, unlit but brimming with coal. To the right of the bed stood an ornately carved wooden dresser, on top of which sat a porcelain jug next to a white ceramic bowl. Where on earth was I? Paintings of country scenes and still-life fruit bowls or flowers hung all over the room.
What a strange-looking hospital room.
As I peeled back the heavy layers of covers I was wearing a long white nightie. The back of my head was tender and hurt to touch. My hair was a wild mess of dirty blonde locks.
Suddenly pain bloomed. My head throbbed in waves. Under the long sleeves of the nightie my right upper arm was bandaged. Carefully, I peeled back the cloth to reveal a neatly sewn wound about two inches long. Dried blood crusted around it.
My head started to feel woozy. Where in the hell was I? This was definitely not a hospital. I tried sliding out of bed to steal a glance out the window, but my legs gave way and I landed on the ground in a heap.
There was a shuffling of feet outside my door and a light knock. “Miss, you all right? I heard some almighty racket. Are you decent? May I come in?”
“Err… yes… come in,” I replied while trying to get to my feet. My legs wobbled and I had to clutch the bed frame to help hoist myself up.
All of a sudden sturdy arms guided me back to bed. “What have ya gone and done?” There was more accusation than concern in her tone. “Lord Henry will be pleased that you’re awake,” she said while tucking me back into bed like a small child.
She was a short, stout woman with orange curly hair tucked back in a bun. Short stray hairs caught the light from the window, giving the illusion of a halo atop her head. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of hoisting me up.
“Where am I?” Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed it. It felt like a bad hangover.
Sympathy washed over the woman’s expression. “There’s been an accident, miss, and Lord Henry… well, he brought ye here to Dormer House and, well… he’ll want to have a word with you ’bout it. Oh, he’ll be glad to see y’awake, he will.” She poured me a glass of water from the pitcher as she spoke. “I’m Miss Barnsby, should ye need anything, dear.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the glass gratefully.
For the first time I noticed her old-fashioned maid’s outfit. It was a dull gray color and grazed the floor. Had she really said what I thought she’d said?
“Am I really at Dormer House? I didn’t think people actually lived here.”
“Well, of course they do, dear. This is the Earl of Pembrooke’s home, why wouldn’t he live here?” she said, almost laughing. “Of course, they spend part of the year at their townhouse in London, but they’re here every year during late summer and through the hunting season. You rest up now, miss, and I’ll go fetch Lord Henry.”
With that she turned and shuffled out the door.
None of this made sense. How was this possible? The woman who had rented us the little cottage had clearly said this was now a museum, not a residence. Ben was probably worried sick. Did he even know where I was? My purse was nowhere in sight, which meant it was most likely still out on the road and soaked from the rain. Ben had told me to get one of those Lifeproof cases they claimed were waterproof and now I wished I had listened. The next time Miss Barnsby appeared I would have to ask about my things. If my cell phone wasn’t damaged by the rain or the accident, I would need to text Ben.
Sliding out of bed more carefully this time, I used the sturdy posts to keep me steady.
There was an armoire on the other side of the room near the window and I wondered if my things might be in there. The wooden door opened with a creak, so I handled it cautiously, not wanting to make any noise. All I could see were long old-fashioned gowns. Were these costumes? I hadn’t noticed any actors walking around in nineteenth-century clothing when I’d visited the other day. From the window I noticed the familiar slope of the hill overlooking the South Downs. My room was clearly facing the front of the great house. However, I couldn’t make out the visitors’ parking, which should’ve been there. A small leather-bound book on a side table caught my eye. It looked worn from use, a book of poetry published in 1836. An inscription on the inside of the book jacket read:
To my dearest Henry, may you always enjoy the love of re
ading. Most affectionately, Mother.
I instinctively flipped through the book and started to read through the first poem when I heard another knock on the door. My heart jumped in my chest and I made a silent dash back to the bed, afraid to be caught snooping.
“Come in,” I called out as I settled myself under the covers.
A tall, handsome, dark-haired man in his late twenties appeared, wearing what looked like riding breeches and tall boots with a tan leather top. His white blouse had loose-fitting sleeves tapered at the wrists. He wore it neatly tucked into his breeches with a dark burgundy vest over that. A dark necktie completed the outfit. English country fashion was definitely something to be admired. No one here slogged around in stained sweats and running shoes like they did in the States.
“Madame, I apologize for the intrusion.” His speech was proper and his intonation was like music when he spoke. He cleared his throat and looked around uncomfortably. “But I wanted to inquire about your wellbeing. How are you feeling?” He stood rigidly holding a black leather bag. It was the shape of one of those old-school lunch boxes with the rounded top and handle.
“A bit groggy, but fine, I guess,” I said, uncertain why this stranger looked so concerned.
“Miss Barnsby informed me that you were up and I wondered if you’d allow me to check your bandages.” He hesitated for a moment. “Might you have any objections?”
His sideburns were longer than I’d seen anyone wear them in a while. There was something familiar about him. I knew that face, those eyes. With the sun blasting in from the window their color had suddenly gone from an intense blue to a watery baby blue. I couldn’t peel my gaze away from them. They were beautiful and kind. An intense feeling of recognition wound its way through my mind like a pleasant dream. Where did I know him from? I’d only been in town for a few days and hadn’t really had time to get to know any of the locals. Aware that I had probably been staring too long, I looked to the bag.
“Oh… are you a doctor?” Feeling slow to catch on, I pushed myself up in bed with some difficulty and started to pull up the sleeve of my nightie.
“Not exactly, madame. Lord Henry Drake of Pembrooke at your service.” His smile turned instantly to a look of concern as I imagined I had turned several shades of gray before going completely white as one might when they had just seen a ghost.
“I do have some learning in the matter, and when I was unable to reach a doctor due to the storm I tended to your injuries myself,” he stammered.
This had to be a dream. It had to be. When I didn’t speak he moved towards me cautiously. “May I?” He pointed at my injured arm. The only thing to escape my lips was a nervous laugh, like the token gesture you gave someone when they’d used a pun that was truly not funny.
I held my eyes closed for about ten seconds and when I opened them again, Lord Henry was staring at me like I had just gone mad as a hatter.
“Please pinch me. I know I’m dreaming. None of this is real.”
The bag he had been holding was placed on the side table next to the bed and he looked down at me like a parent trying to explain there were no monsters in the closet. With nothing more to lose, I reached out and pinched Lord Henry’s arm and he yelped like a dog.
“Madame?” He look more stunned than angry.
A tingling awareness started at the base of my spine and began to work its way up. This did not feel like a dream. I had heard once that one thing you couldn’t do in a dream was read… but I had just read a whole verse from that book on the table. My throat started to tighten.
“Just had to check you were real, that this was…” My voice trailed off. What more could I say? If this wasn’t a dream then either I was insane or… I wasn’t sure what the or could be.
“Are you satisfied? Please warn me if you have the desire to do that again so that I might prepare myself.” Lord Henry looked slightly amused. “Now, may I have a look?” Without waiting for a response—perhaps he felt I was completely off my rocker and the sooner he was through with me the better—he set to work undoing my bandage.
My mind continued to race. What had happened to me?
“Lord Henry,” I said, reluctantly playing along. “Can you tell me what happened exactly? Was there some sort of accident?”
He stopped with my question.
“I am dreadfully sorry, madame, but my driver said you just appeared out of nowhere. It all happened so quickly. I’m afraid I was sheltered inside from the rain and could scarcely see anything from there. One of the horses whinnied before I felt the carriage come to a sudden halt. I was pitched out of my seat by the crash.”
His eyes met mine and I could see how terrible he seemed to feel. He had a small red bump on his right temple.
“Your carriage? You mean with horses?” I had been so sure that a car had hit me, but I had heard horses too.
“Yes, with horses.” He looked at me sideways as he resumed his examination of my arm. “I am led to believe by your accent that you are from America?”
“Yes, Los Angeles, born and bred.”
“Los Angeles?” He said like it was a foreign word. “Sounds Spanish. Is that perhaps on the west coast of America? I believe there to be Spanish villages on that side?” He examined me a little more closely. “You’re certainly a long way from home.”
His fingers were large and strong but surprisingly gentle as they traced the line of the stitches. His touch sent a jolt of electricity firing through my body. Every nerve ending awakened.
“Farther than you know,” I said, but the full ramifications were lost on him.
The less I got into the details of my being here, the better, until I could figure out where here actually was. He dabbed at the wound with a small piece of cloth.
The fine hairs on my arms and neck stood at attention. I could have stayed under his care all day if need be.
Satisfied with his handiwork, he opened a small metal container and dipped his finger into a clear goo. He applied it to my arm. Noticing how calm I’d become, he spoke gently, kind of like someone might speak to a frightened animal.
“Is there someone we may contact to let them know you are safe?” His eyes searched mine.
Now the panic rose from my stomach to my throat. What was I supposed to say? My words came out in more of a croak.
“Ummm… I don’t know,” was pretty much all I could manage.
His composure changed slightly. “Have you no recollection, madame? Do you not know where you are lodged?”
“Very little. I really don’t know how I ended up here.” Which was the truth and until I did know I couldn’t commit to anything else.
“You’ve been out for a whole day. It might take some time for your memory to come back, but the…”
“I’ve been asleep for a whole day?” I interrupted. Ben. He must be worried to death.
“When I spoke with the doctor this morning he felt it was best to let you rest. As you have been unable to supply us with your name”—he paused and looked anxiously at me—“I have canvassed the nearby estates for someone in search of a missing person. If you are able to supply me with your name, maybe that might help with my search.” His voice trailed off but he waited.
“Emma.” It came out a little softer than I had intended. I cleared my throat self-consciously. “My name is Emma Clayton. That’s pretty much all I know.” What else could I say?
“Lord Henry, at your service. My father is the Earl of Pembrooke. I apologize for this dreadful accident, but I promise to see you right. Consider Dormer House your home until I can reunite you with your family.” Lord Henry stood and headed towards the door. “I shall send word for the doctor now, Miss Emma,” he said before leaving.
And you are the man from the portrait, in flesh and blood. My brain struggled to make sense of this. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It was an impossibility, a WTF sort of situation. What the hell would I do now?
Chapter 6
Ruffled Feathers
&nbs
p; I woke to the sound of someone moving around my room. My eyes shot open. I expected to see Ben, but it was Miss Barnsby arranging some clothes in the armoire.
“Oh, you’re up, miss?” she said without a hint of sarcasm. She had been making enough noise to raise the dead. “I took the liberty of bringing you some clothes from Miss Isobel’s closets, as you’re about the same size. She won’t mind a wee bit, she’s still up in London. Your own clothes, I’m afraid, must have been severely damaged in the accident, as you arrived only in stockings and a chemise.” One of her eyebrows was raised in question, waiting for me to confirm her suspicions.
If I hadn’t felt so drained from worrying all night, I would have felt compelled to agree just to avoid judgment, but as it was, I couldn’t be bothered. Let her think what she wanted.
During the night I had convinced myself that if I could fall asleep I’d simply wake up and realize this was in fact a dream, but clearly that tactic had not worked. My purse was nowhere to be found. I needed to go looking for it. If I was in fact in the mid-nineteenth century, what would happen if someone were to find it? The only thing tying me to the purse was my picture ID. What would they make of that?
“Thank you, Miss Barnsby,” I managed and I slid out of bed to stretch. My legs had regained some of their strength.
“You must be quite hungry. How about I help you dress and you come down for tea?” she asked through pursed lips.
It did feel good to be up. I was bound to get bed sores if I spent another second horizontally inclined. The doctor who had come last night, Dr. Bainbridge, had been quite useless. He suggested that I remain in bed for the next few days in case I suffered from any dizzy spells.
“I think I can manage myself,” I started to say, but looking at the unrecognizable bits of clothing laid out, my conviction floundered. How would I know what to put on first?
She was already at the door.
“On second thought, Miss Barnsby, I could use a hand. I still feel a bit wobbly.” I was suddenly grateful for her offer.
The Wayfarer: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 1) Page 3
