“Spoken by someone with nothing.”
That stung. Until he’d said that I hadn’t realized how truly alone I really was. I knew it was the wine and his frustration talking, but I could feel myself withdraw.
“That was unkind. I apologize.”
“Don’t worry, you’re right. I have no business talking about things I can’t possibly understand.” I made a move to get up. My ego was bruised and all I wanted to do was shut myself back in my room. “I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.” Reluctantly, I removed his jacket and gave it back to him, not caring how revealing my nightie might or might not be.
“I never meant to insult you. Please stay.”
“It’s late and if we’re going to Oxwich tomorrow I should get some rest.” The bottle of wine on the side table was half full. I picked it up. “May I?” And without waiting for a response I took it with me. Although I didn’t look back, I could feel his eyes on my back as I made my way out the door and up the stairs to my room.
The smell of lavender still permeated the air when I walked through the door to my room. A dirty ring had formed around the bath from the water left there. I hated leaving things on such a bad note with Lord Henry, but I didn’t feel up to facing the reality his statement evoked. It was true. I was someone with nothing. All the more reason I had to figure out a way back to my time. If I’d gotten here, there had to be a way back. Maybe tomorrow would bring answers.
In my haste to make a graceful exit I had left my glass behind, so now I took small swigs of wine right from the bottle, like a proper wino. When I was a young teenager riding horses I used to get dropped off at the barn for the day. One of the grooms there, Willy, who was actually a middle-aged woman, used to drive me to grab our lunch. She always drove with a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag wedged between her thighs. Every time she would take a sip the car would swerve slightly into the oncoming traffic lane. Never enough that I was worried we’d crash but just enough that my hand would make a move to grab the steering wheel. I said a mental cheers to Willy now as I took another sip.
When I had settled myself comfortably in bed with the wine close at hand on the side table, I noticed a note had been slid under the door. Had I walked over it when I’d come in or had it been put through more recently? Impossible to tell. Maybe Henry felt he needed to apologize. I peeled back the many layers of bedcovers and picked up the folded sheet of paper.
In a childlike scrawl it read, I am on to you.
Icy fingers crept up my spine and the soothing effects of the wine instantly dissipated.
Chapter 12
Wildflowers
Despite all the wine I scarcely slept a wink. My mind turned over and over the meaning of the note and who could have put it under my door. Every time I heard a creak in the house my imagination set off a flurry of new worries.
My exhaustion must have kicked in sometime after the sky turned that pale gray just before the sun came up. A knock at the door startled me and I came to with my face stuck to my pillow in a pile of drool. Attractive.
Before I could even respond, Miss Barnsby walked through my room clucking her disapproval. Shuffling about like a woman on a mission, she set about putting out my clothes and opening the windows to let in some fresh air. She didn’t even try to mask her contempt for her job this morning.
“The doctor will be up in a minute to check on you and then you’ll be leaving for Oxwich with Lord Henry.” She filled the pitcher of water on the dresser, laid out a small bowl of apples and then turned back to me. “Come on then, up with ye, his lordship wants you presentable and I think I’ve got me work cut out tis mornin’.” While she spoke she arranged something on my dresser. “I’m not sure why Lord Henry asked me to put these poor wee things in here, but he thought you might like them,” she mumbled under her breath.
My eyes cracked open and I saw the small vase of wildflowers Miss Barnsby was moaning on about. I got out of bed and walked over to the dresser. Ignoring Miss Barnsby’s questioning looks, I bent my head to smell them.
“I love them.” How had he known? He must have felt bad for last night.
The flowers definitely lifted my spirits. I had wallowed in my own self-pity for long enough and it was time I took matters into my own hands.
Once I was appropriately primped and corseted, I sat in the chair by the window awaiting the doctor. Miss Barnsby, satisfied with her efforts, left in a cloud of petticoats and undergarments.
Other than Lord Henry, most of the men I had met in this time were quite short. Dr. Bainbridge was no exception. His dark suit was snug around his rotund torso. No stranger to rich foods, I suspected. Heavily in need of a trim, his sideburns were wild and unkempt. Perched on the end of his nose were small wire glasses. When he stood too close I could hear a slight wheezing to his every breath, not a trait that instilled huge amounts of confidence in someone in his line of work. How anyone could take him seriously was beyond me.
“Have any of your memories of the events leading up to the accident come back to you yet? Anything at all, even the smallest thing?” he asked while cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief.
“All I remember is waking up in this bed.” I lied easily.
“Have you awoken disorientated since that time?” He was now examining the back of my head where I’d hit it. It was still tender where he touched it.
“Not since then.” Contrary to Lord Henry’s touch, this man’s made my skin crawl.
“The earl tells me you are from America. Do you remember the boat ride over here?” He was now searching my eyes, most likely looking at my pupils.
“No, none of it.” Which wasn’t a lie, as I’d taken a plane over, not a boat, but that was not a detail I wanted to elaborate on. I’d even upgraded at the last moment for extra leg room. Love the extra leg room.
“What about your childhood?” Okay, now he was entering dangerous territory. “Do you remember much of that?”
“Only snippets, the odd bit.” I thought it was better to avoid all of that. He squinted as if he was putting the pieces together.
“But you remembered your name?” He was getting ready to finish, I hoped.
“Yes, that’s true. I always knew my name.” Now I was wondering where he was going with this.
“Remarkable,” he said to no one in particular.
“Is that common? To forget everything except your name?” The best tactic was sometimes to redirect the questioning.
“Common? No. But it has been known to happen. In most cases, Miss Clayton, the patient will slowly regain more and more memories as the days go on and in some cases a patient may wake up in the morning and remember everything. I suspect that in your case, things will start coming back to you by the end of the week.” He smiled at this and gave me a pat of encouragement on the leg. Throughout his examination he’d stood much too close and I felt my personal space was being violated. He looked at me now with a lecherous grin that made me uneasy.
When the door to my room opened and Lord Henry stood there I finally let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It was as if he’d read my mind.
“Dr. Bainbridge?” he said, with an amused look on his face. “My father waits for your consultation in his study. If you are through here”—he looked to me with one raised brow, and then settled once again on the doctor—“I would be happy to escort you.”
“Very well,” Dr. Bainbridge wheezed.
While the doctor gathered his things at a snail’s pace, I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to Lord Henry, who smiled and bowed his head in acknowledgment. Perhaps also in apology for last night. As far as that went, it was already forgotten.
Once alone, I adjusted the hat I was meant to wear and took the gloves for my ride home later. Miss Barnsby had left a few apples this morning so I grabbed those for my trusty steed Angus and made my way downstairs. Lord Henry was waiting by the door in his riding clothes with his top hat in hand. He offered me his arm, which I took
gratefully, acknowledging that all was well between us again, and we headed out the front door.
I was anxious to be out of that house away from the earl, Miss Barnsby, Phoebus and now even Dr. Bainbridge. Harris, the coach driver, looked me up and down as I stepped up into the carriage, but I hardly paid any attention. Our horses, Angus and Dexter, were tied to the back of the covered coach and would be coming with us on our journey. When we were settled and the coach was off, Lord Henry brought out a small picnic from a basket he had tucked under his seat.
“I knew we wouldn’t have much of a chance to eat this morning, so I brought a few things in case you were hungry.” In his basket he had boiled eggs, cheese, bread and fruit.
“Great, because I am starving. Thanks for the flowers by the way.”
He shrugged like it was nothing.
My mouth salivated and I dove in. Riding in a coach was a lot like those hay rides I used to go on as a kid when we’d visit the local farms. It was a bumpy ride without shock absorbers, so after five minutes everyone was pretty much over it. Now those memories came flooding back as I tried eating with chattering teeth. It felt like my fillings were going to get knocked right out of my mouth and after only a few nibbles of bread and cheese I pretty much gave up.
“How long until we get there?” Five minutes in I was desperate to know how much longer I’d have to stand this for.
“Only an hour less a quarter,” he said as if this was a good thing.
“Oh,” was about all the enthusiasm I could muster. My backside was already feeling numb from the continuous thumping. The other thing that I hadn’t accounted for was the lack of windows. They had opted for the covered coach as the skies were cloudy and threatening rain. While there were small windows on either side, there were none in the front or back. So it wasn’t long before I started to feel car-sick, or should I say coach-sick.
Poor Lord Henry watched in horror as I turned white. By pure stubbornness of will I managed to get all the way to Oxwich with only one stop to throw up. The rest of the trip Lord Henry watched me carefully for any sign I was about to lose it. I wasn’t sure who was more tense throughout the journey. It wasn’t exactly the trip either of us had bargained for.
Once there I struggled to recover any dignity I had left. He was kind enough to take me to a charming little tea house so that I could freshen up and we could enjoy a hot cup of tea and settle our nerves.
“I’m glad that’s over with,” I said, relieved to regain feeling in my bum.
“Ha. I gather you’ve not traveled a great deal by coach?” Now that he was no longer worried for me his sense of humor had returned.
“Apparently not. I can’t stand not seeing where I’m going. I’ve always had a touch of motion sickness. That’s why I could never read in the car… coach.” I recovered quickly.
“You must have been a real pleasure on the boat over here.” He laughed.
“Haha… I’m glad my misery is entertaining.” I thought of my comfortable plane ride to Heathrow: champagne and movies. He smiled at me and finished his tea.
“We should make our way to the train station and the two inns in town. I have some business to attend first, so I thought you might want to look at a few shops.”
It was nice to be in a small town for a change. Oxwich as I knew it in the future was still a small town, but significantly larger than it was now. However, the main square was almost the same. Instead of cars there were horse carriages plodding along the cobbled streets. The foot traffic was the same with the square in the center of the town acting as farmers’ market and craft fair—livestock being sold here and there, pigs, chickens, and goats with the odd horse or cow. The shops bordering the market ranged from book shops, dressmakers, coffee houses to bakeries and butchers. A little apothecary sold all kinds of lotions and potions for this or that ailment. Small boys of maybe six sold local papers at every corner. The crowd did not look as sophisticated as you might picture in London at this time, but everyone was well dressed, if their clothes were a bit on the simpler side.
One of the most glaring differences was the smell. It smelled like shit of every kind and lots of it. I noticed a man on the far side of the square whose job it seemed to be to deal with the mountains of it. Equipped with a small wheelbarrow and shovel, he hardly seemed to make a dent.
Lord Henry checked his pocket watch.
“I am fine to walk around if you have somewhere you need to be.” I could tell that he was uncomfortable leaving me in the middle of the chaos.
“Are you sure you don’t want an escort? I could have Harris accompany…”
“Oh, please, no!” I interrupted him. There was no way I wanted to be anywhere near that weird little man. He gave me the creeps. “I’ll be fine. I noticed a book shop in the square that I’d love to check out.”
He laughed at how quickly I’d rejected his idea of an escort. “Very well, Miss Clayton. I will only be about a half hour. I shall come looking for you there.” He handed me a small pouch of coins. “In case you find something you like.”
“Oh, I can’t take this.” I was instantly uncomfortable taking any kind of a handout. I’d always had my own money. Even with Ben I’d always split the bills right down the middle.
“I insist.” His hands cupped over mine so that I couldn’t hand back the money. The feeling of electricity coursed through my entire body. I almost felt the need to withdraw because of its intensity. Lord Henry held my eyes for just a second longer before both of us pulled away.
“Take care Miss Emma, I will be no more than a quarter hour,” he said simply and turned to walk away.
Chapter 13
Down the Rabbit Hole
The book store was probably the tiniest little shop I’d ever set foot in. Shelves extended all the way up to the ceiling, which was high, and a ladder was needed to reach many of the books that cluttered every space. Most of the books were used but some of the newer additions were located on the lower shelves. A young boy of maybe ten with a wiry little frame was up and down the rickety old ladder several times to retrieve whatever was needed. An older, stout man of maybe fifty called orders to him from the ground. He seemed to be the one who knew where everything lived.
“What can I do you for, miss?” The older gentleman had kind eyes and was eager to help.
“Do you have any John Keats?
“Well, let me see, I believe I have some Keats. You know he’s quite popular these days and his books don’t stay in my shop for long.” He cleaned his spectacles with his shirt sleeve and set about his search as he spoke. “Would The Eve of St. Agnes be of interest? It’s a used copy but beautifully preserved.”
“Anything you have would be great,” I said, looking in wonder at all the old treasures the old man had on the shelves. “Do you happen to have Jane Eyre by Currer Bell?” Charlotte Brontë’s book had first been published under a pen name in an attempt to mask her gender.
I wasn’t sure how much money Lord Henry had given me but I was pretty sure it would more than cover it.
He made a tsking sound with his mouth.
“Jane Eyre has caused quite a stir, by and by I’m not sure all the fuss is warranted. If you ask me, I find the writing a bit coarse. I do have one copy however if you’re still keen on it.”
“Yes, I am keen on it.” Speculation that Currer Bell was a woman had not only contributed to its popularity but also its criticism.
A beautiful hand-drawn book called Human Anatomy caught my eye.
“Oh, and what about that one?”
“That one is dear. Is that for your own use?” He eyed me up and down.
Was it scandalous for a woman to buy a book with pictures of the human body, I wondered?
“For a friend.” Lord Henry would love it. I couldn’t wait to show him.
The old man called out to his assistant and the boy quickly retrieved the books in question.
“That will be two sovereigns”—he paused to made the mental calculation—“and
three bob, miss.” The man walked behind a small desk, getting ready to take care of the financial part of our transaction. “Would you be putting that on account?” He once again cleaned his spectacles and started rifling through some papers.
“No, I’ll pay now.” The money purse Lord Henry had given me felt heavy with coins but I really had no idea how much was in there and in what denominations. There was a moment where I feared looking like an idiot, but rather than let that panic take root I opened the purse and rummaged through until I came up with two gold coins, a few silver and some copper ones. Unsure what the sovereigns or even bobs looked like, I handed over all the coins in my hand. The shop owner took the two gold coins, three silver florins and gave me back the rest.
“Thank you, miss. I’ll have Alfred wrap those. Would you like to return later to pick them up?”
The idea of schlepping that big heavy book around for the day was not appealing. “Can I come back after lunch?” I asked, dropping the extra coins back in my tiny change purse.
“We will have your package waiting for you then. What name can I put on it?” He was grinning ear to ear.
“Emma. Emma Clayton.” Feeling rather pleased with myself for my first nineteenth-century purchase, I decided to continue on my shopping spree.
When I came out I looked around for the apothecary. I’d only ever read about them. They were the pharmacies of the past. I hopped over piles of horse manure as I made my way across the square to the store, which sat on the corner opposite a tea shop.
Inside, the contrast to the book store was overwhelming. Here everything was neatly in its place. Minimalist. Large glass bottles lined long wooden shelves behind the counter. Much smaller ones were grouped on small tables and clearly labeled. While the shop seemed sparse by comparison, it had a large selection of everything from hair tonics to poultices for scrapes and cuts. There were small flat jars of creams for rashes or dry skin. One side of the store was dedicated to herbal teas and medicines to ingest, while the other was strictly for external use.
The Wayfarer: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 1) Page 7
