Within minutes I had tacked up Mr. Jacob’s bay gelding and stocked a saddlebag with anything I could find that might be useful. A knife, some rope—my dad always felt that you should have rope in your car so I always got in the habit of it—a half-eaten apple, a dusty blanket and a flask of Mr. Jacob’s secret stash, which at this moment sounded better than water.
What to do with the dog? I couldn’t just leave him tied to a post, he would likely die of starvation. But he was pretty old anyway. As if on cue he looked up at me with his sad old-dog saggy eyes and all reason was shot to hell. I scooped up the little nippy thing and laid him on the pommel of the saddle in front of me when I mounted.
“Well, I suppose you’ve never ridden a horse, have you?” I said to him. His ears were pinned back and his body trembled.
I urged the skittish gelding on and he raced forward, eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and the burning house. We were a rather motley-looking crew traveling with little visibility. By now it was no later than eight in the morning but through the veil of fog it was impossible to see anything. While I had paid close attention when we rode in, I struggled with where to go now. Straight down the lane for maybe ten minutes and then we should hit a larger dirt road—that was if we saw it. Sure enough we came to an intersection.
A lightning storm had broken out in the distance to the right. I could feel a familiar humming in my core. It seemed to be pulling me towards those long fingers of electricity. Should I ride towards them and hope that somehow it swallowed me back to my own time? Back to tomorrow? Hot steaming showers and twenty-first century comforts. The hum in my body intensified as I considered this. It would be the easy way out. Leaving all this behind was an attractive thought. What kind of danger awaited me if I went back to Lord Henry? Isobel and possibly even her mother had gone to great lengths to make me disappear, what would they do if I returned? Would I be imprisoned or even hanged for the death of Marc Jacob? Surely not, right?
Could I go back to the life I’d had before as if none of this had ever happened?
Miss Crabtree’s words rang through me. ‘Leave things just as you found them, exactly as you found them.’ Could I do nothing and just let Henry die?
No. I couldn’t do that.
Damn it!
Whatever the ramifications, I was no longer the same girl I’d been even one week ago. Coasting through life was no longer a possibility. I could not allow it. Not this time. Not when I had the power to stop it.
With a tight grip on the little dog, I turned to the left and broke into a canter. The gelding’s canter was smooth and steady like a rocking horse. My co-pilot settled in after a minute and stopped panting. When we came alongside the stream we stopped and I allowed the horse to have a quick drink before continuing on.
After what felt like an endless journey, we started to enter countryside that felt familiar. The fog had broken up in parts but continued to float through the forests like smoke on a battlefield. A dusting of drizzle left tiny droplets on my horse’s mane that looked like flecks of snow.
What if I was already too late? I couldn’t allow myself to think of the what ifs. In this moment, nothing mattered more than getting to Henry.
My arm had grown numb from holding the little dog. The gelding too was starting to tire. With the road to the White Hart in sight, my spirit lifted. I knew I was close.
Just when I finally felt encouraged, the heavens opened and the rain came down in large lazy drops.
Chapter 29
Too Late?
“Really?” I said out loud to myself. As if some unseen force had heard this and decided to up the ante, a clap of thunder roared through the trees, spooking the gelding. Was the storm chasing me? The bay shot forward and I lost hold of my co-pilot, who tumbled to the mud and scurried away from the horse’s hooves just in time.
“Whoa, boy, whoa.” I tried to soothe him but my own body was humming.
The rain fell harder, making it difficult to navigate the muddy path in front of me. I knew I didn’t have time to waste dismounting for the dog. I’d come back for him later. If there was a later. Hopefully, nothing would eat him. I thought of the predators back home in Southern California: the mountain lions, coyotes, bobcats and hawks. Any one of those would find him a tasty treat. But what did they have here? Wolves? Were they extinct yet in England? I couldn’t remember but I hoped for both our sakes they were. I pressed on through the dense curtain of rain along the same path I’d walked several days ago with Ben.
And then I saw something.
Up ahead, I could barely make out the blurry figure of a man walking with the hint of a limp. He was tall and lean. All my senses burst with excitement.
“Henry!” I screamed and kicked my horse forward.
The man stopped and spun in my direction.
“Emma?” Lord Henry boomed from fifty yards away. His deep voice was unmistakable. It was like music to my ears.
I jumped from my horse and raced towards him, so relieved to find him intact. He was favoring one leg but otherwise looked unharmed. Thank goodness I’d made it in time. My heart soared when I took in his affectionate expression.
Just when I was steps from him, a movement in the dense bush behind his shoulder caught my eye and I noticed in horror the long barrel of a rifle as it pointed in our direction. The shooter was none other than the mild-mannered boy I’d caught Isobel with, William White. In a split second my own senses went from relief to panic.
“Henry, watch—”
My words were drowned out by an almighty explosion.
I leapt towards Henry to shove him from the path of danger. We hit the ground hard as the sound of gunfire echoed through the woods.
My frayed nerves turned my gut in knots. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears and my own ragged breathing as it caught in my throat. With our limbs intertwined, I struggled out from under Lord Henry’s weight.
“Henry! Henry!” The urgency in my voice was impossible to conceal. But he didn’t answer.
I scanned the forest for Isobel’s lover, bracing for another round, and saw only a cloud of smoke which lingered in his wake. He must have run off.
“Henry.” I prodded him more forcefully but there was still no response.
In that moment all the air left my lungs in one big whoosh as I took in the limp body of the man I loved. His jacket was soaked from the rain and red pooled beneath him. He’d been shot. Confusion battled logic. What had happened?
“No!” My anguish flooded out like a moan. I cradled his head to my chest. “You can’t die. Not now. I tried to get back to you,” I yelled at him as tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. My lips grazed his forehead. His body was still warm and I left them there, taking in the last of his heat.
My body lurched forward, threatening to expel the meager contents of my stomach. It felt as if the life was being sucked right out of me. I was hardly able to breathe between sobs. It came out of me in turbulent waves and my whole body shook with shock, exhaustion and utter despair.
All this time I’d thought I needed to get back to save him, but had I instead brought this fate upon him? Had this bullet been meant for me? How could Isabel have known I’d escaped? I knew without a doubt I loved this man more than life itself.
“I love you.” The words, like soft music, drifted through the blowing leaves and comforted the depths of my soul. Yes, it was true. I loved this man. I supposed I’d known it from the first moment we’d met, the first touch. There had never been anything I could do to stop it, just as sure as I needed air to breathe.
“I love you.” This time I heard it more clearly and I looked around with a jolt, wondering if someone was talking to me. Was I now hearing voices? Was Henry’s departing soul reaching out to mine? With my eyes closed, I took in the smell of him, the same hint of soap and lavender as I remembered from before. I knew I would never be able to enjoy the smell of that purple flower again. It would forever be tarnis
hed with the memory of loss.
“Did you hear me?” a raspy voice whispered from somewhere nearby and my head shot up to see where it had come from. Or had I imagined it?
“Ouch!” Lord Henry’s corpse said, his eyes suddenly open.
I let go of his head as if it were possessed and screamed.
“Owww.” He groaned. “What’s wrong?” he asked, wincing in pain.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. I thought you were dead!” Throwing my arms around him, I helped him to sit up. Relief overwhelmed my senses and I clung to him as if he were about to blow away.
“Well, I may be soon if you continue choking me.” He tried to loosen my grip.
“Sorry… I just…” Now I started to cry, from relief or shock or both, and made a motion to cover my face. He caught my hands and squeezed them.
“Were you hit?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but full of concern. I shook my head. He scanned the forest for any sign of a threat, his own pistol half pulled out as an afterthought to protect us.
“No, but you have!” It was difficult to mask the panic in my voice. “We have to get you some help.” His body was contorting to the right and when I pulled back his jacket I saw that his white linen shirt was soaked with blood.
“Help me bandage the wound to stop the bleeding.” The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Thunder could be heard in the distance now and I was relieved that the vibration had slowed. The tug I had felt earlier was no more than a tingle in the tips of my fingers. Miss Crabtree’s necklace emitted a subtle heat.
“Okay, I brought a few things with me, hold on.” Reluctantly I stood up, not wanting to be even a short distance from him, and raced towards my horse. To my surprise, he hadn’t ventured too far. Still exhausted from the ride, he was only twenty feet away near the stream below munching weeds. I grabbed the reins and led the gelding towards Henry.
Once I tied the horse off I brought the few supplies from the saddlebags. First I handed Henry the flask of whiskey. He arched his brow and gave me an inquisitive look, but drank from it anyway. His lips pursed as he forced it down.
“Where on earth did you get this? It’s dreadful,” he complained.
“Don’t ask and don’t complain. It’s the best I could do in a pinch.”
Then I cut the blanket into long bandage-like strips with the knife.
“I’m sorry my hands are so cold,” I said as I helped remove Lord Henry’s jacket and shirt. There was a lot of blood and he was starting to look drowsy.
Please don’t die on me now.
Having seen far too many movies, I took the flask from him and poured some of the whiskey over his wound. He grunted and shot me a stern look.
“To kill the germs,” I offered.
“Pardon me?” Confusion was written all over his face.
“I’ll explain another time.” Obviously germ theory was not yet a thing. “For now just focus on staying alive. I don’t think I can handle you dying on me again.”
“I’ll try to oblige, Miss Emma,” he said dryly.
“No need to call me miss, just Emma.”
“Very well, just Emma.” He said with a deadpan expression.
I shot him a look for trying to be funny. Then I bandaged up his torso and tied it off the best I could. He struggled back into his wet jacket.
“Thank you,” he said and paused.
“Don’t thank me yet. Who knows if it will hold.” I was already throwing everything back in the saddlebag.
“Emma, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He studied me, suddenly serious. “I’m ashamed that I didn’t fight for you. I should have trusted you. And yet here you are saving me.”
“Henry, what were you doing walking through the forest in the rain? I thought you were supposed to be on a hunt?” I asked.
“I called it off. I was on my way to find you…”
“To find me? Why? What made you change your mind?”
“I needed to know the truth for myself. Emma, I’ve been such a cad.”
“So you didn’t believe it?” I didn’t trust my own ears. I had imagined he’d turned his back on me.
I pressed my lips to his and kissed him tenderly. His body responded to me.
“Maybe if I’d not fallen from my horse I would have found you sooner. The billet straps on my saddle must have snapped,” he said, looking annoyed that he’d not checked his equipment before setting off.
“Your billet straps?” Memories from two nights ago fluttered through my mind as I recalled a conversation I’d mistakenly overheard between two men in the basement near the servants’ quarters. Later that same evening, there had also been the men fiddling with something in the tack room. How could I have failed to put all of this together? The presumed hunting accident had always been foul play. But why, when the hunt had been called off, had his attackers still followed through? If Isobel and William were both behind that plot as well, then Henry finding me put them in grave danger of discovery. Had William followed Lord Henry from the house or me from Mr. Jacobs?
“This is much more serious than broken tack. Someone tried to kill you,” I said more to myself.
“It appears that way.” He said with a hint of sarcasm. His color was now a sickly gray. “I’m not convinced he won’t yet succeed.”
“No, I mean there was a plot against you. I just realized. I heard men talking the night of the ball and now it all makes sense.” Words were flooding out of me in fragments. “You’re in danger. I think you still are.”
Henry’s energy seemed to be fading. He wasn’t worried about anything I was telling him. Instead, he looked at me affectionately, like a man who’d had too many cocktails.
“Miss Crabtree told me that you were special and that one day I would need to place my trust in you rather than those close to me.” He smiled weakly. “I thought that those were just the ramblings of a woman who’d lost her senses. I was so blind.”
I remembered asking him in the pub what Miss Crabtree had said to him that day as she left the apothecary but he had shrugged the question off. How had she known? Or had she meant it in abstract terms? She’d known my secret the moment she met me.
“And now? Do you trust me?” We needed to get out of there quickly but it felt good to hear him say these things, things I’d secretly hoped I’d hear but never dreamt that I would.
“Now I know I was a fool. I love you, Emma, and never wish to be parted from you. That is if you’d accept me.”
Was this a proposal? The idea of it made me feel light-headed and excited.
But what about Jane? And Dormer House? I didn’t dare believe this wasn’t shock talking. I doubted he’d be released so easily from his engagement.
“The moment you left Dormer House, I realized that without you, life was never going to be worth living. I don’t need a title or Dormer House. I need you.” His energy was fading fast and I realized that if I didn’t get him out of here soon he wouldn’t have a life to live.
“First, you’ll need to know the truth about me.” I noticed that Lord Henry was shaking and I started to worry that he might be going into shock. I pulled the remainder of the blanket over his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here and I’ll tell you everything.”
He nodded. “The White Hart is close by.” He tried to lift his arm to point, but found it too painful.
With great difficulty I helped him to his feet. He staggered around a little, balancing on his good leg. Despite his injuries, he swung a long leg up and vaulted onto the gelding’s back. It looked graceful, but once up there he braced himself on the horse’s neck against the pain. By the time we reached the pub, Lord Henry was hardly able to hold himself up.
It was well before the lunchtime rush and already a few locals sat with pints of ale at the bar. Lord Henry was leaning heavily on me when we walked through the door. Only the man behind the bar, most likely the owner, took any notice of us.
“Do you have any rooms available?” I asked, not wanting to answer his ques
tioning looks.
“Well, this is not that sort of establishment…” Richard Greasly started to say until he recognized Lord Henry. “Holy Mary, what’s happened?”
“An accident,” I replied curtly, not wishing to get into the specifics here. “Could we trouble you for a room?”
“Certainly, miss.” Richard scurried over to help Henry from his wounded side. The few stragglers at the bar glanced uncomfortably at their future earl. “Are you in need of Dr. Bainbridge?”
“No,” Henry mumbled. “No doctors, thank you.”
Certainly not that imbecile, I thought to myself.
Chapter 30
The Whole Truth
Mr. Greasly was very helpful at getting us everything we needed. He wanted to send word to his wife, who had gone to the shops, but we both insisted he leave her out of it. The last thing we wanted was for her to start gossiping about what had happened before we’d had time to piece together all the facts.
As far as we knew the people involved most likely believed Lord Henry was dead. As for me, it didn’t matter. No one would ever believe my account because I’d already been condemned as a thief, not to mention that I was also a woman.
“Your discretion would be most appreciated, Richard,” Henry said to the scared-looking pub owner. Mr. Greasly must have been worried that the future earl could die in his establishment because he continuously asked us if the injuries were serious until we politely asked him to leave. While my presence alone in a room with a man was scandalous, the idea of him dying there was of greater concern.
Now with some light I could see the severity of Henry’s wounds. Mr. Greasly had left us a few extra oil lamps so I could properly dress Lord Henry’s wounds. His face had lost all its color. Fortunately, the bullet had traveled straight through his right side, so there wasn’t anything to be fished out. We had also managed to stop the bleeding and with great difficulty Henry was attempting to sew up his own wound. When I had picked up the needle from the wrong side and couldn’t figure out how to thread it he’d quickly lost confidence in my abilities.
The Wayfarer: A Time Travel Romance (The Wayfarer Series Book 1) Page 18
