Belmary House 4

by Cassidy Cayman

  “Oh, I definitely know what you mean. But really, honestly, Farrah, we can’t go back to Ermine’s shop. You have to trust me on this.”

  “Yes, well, that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

  Tilly sighed long and loud, past caring about seeming rude, but Farrah didn’t budge, so unless she was willing to leave the room, which she wasn’t, she was going to have to let her speak her piece. She reached for her shawl, not because it was cold anymore, but as a comforting shield against Farrah’s arguments.

  “Thomas told me all about Solomon Wodge,” she started. “And, no, he didn’t send me up here to talk to you or even know that I’m here. He’s ready to believe you and give up on the plan.”

  “Then that’s exactly what we should do. Thomas has way more experience with all this than either one of us put together.”

  “Yes, I agree, and now I know why you were so upset about seeing someone who looks like Wodge—”

  “It was him,” Tilly said flatly, wrapping her shawl tighter and feeling an anxious sweat breaking out.

  Farrah bit her lip and waited silently a moment before taking a deep breath. “When I first got here, I was pretty beat up. I made some bad choices in my life and things turned out none too well for me, and when I got here, I was glad to be out of trouble, but the thing is, after the first couple days of resting, I got sick, really sick.” She paused again and her face turned red. “To help me deal with my, er, old lifestyle, I used to take pills. My boyfriend gave them to me and there wasn’t anything like that here, so I started to go into withdrawal, I guess?”

  Tilly looked up from twisting the yarn fringe of her shawl and looked straight at Farrah. She looked embarrassed, possibly even ashamed at having to admit her problem, and Tilly felt ashamed herself for being so impatient with her. She smiled as kindly as she could through her distress and nodded for her to continue.

  “It was bad. I dragged myself around town, trying to find some morphine or laudanum or whatever you can get in this time to take the edge off, but I didn’t want to get addicted to that stuff on top of it all. I found Mr. Ermine’s shop and he knew right away just by looking at me what was wrong. He made all sorts of herbal concoctions for me and told me to come back every day as they needed to be ground fresh. And every day when I went back, he gave me a pep talk or told me a story about someone who’d overcome something, or just something funny to keep me going. He never charged me a penny for all those remedies and after a week or so I felt much better.” She rummaged in her apron and pulled out some faded pamphlets with fancy printing on them. “He gave me these booklets about getting better, one’s mostly prayers and such, but they still helped a lot. I’m telling you, there’s no evil in Mr. Ermine. They simply can’t be the same person.”

  Tilly struggled with her warring emotions, finding herself being swayed by Farrah’s heartfelt story. Could she be mistaken, seen things wrong from being under so much stress? No, she hadn’t seen anything wrong. If there was one thing she felt confident in, it was her eye for details. In her old life she’d been a fingerprint analyst for her local police precinct and while she’d been fired from that job, it was because of improper chain of custody. She might have screwed up on handling her cases, but she was never once wrong about her findings.

  “Aren’t people supposed to have twins all over the world?” Farrah pressed. “What’s the word for it?”

  “Doppelgangers,” Tilly supplied, her thoughts tilting that very direction.

  It was possible that this man looked and sounded exactly like Solomon Wodge. His accent was different, which meant he’d been raised somewhere different, unless he was faking that, too. She tried to recall if he’d spoken before he saw her and once again found herself down a rabbit hole of doubt.

  “Solomon’s powerful,” she muttered, not looking at Farrah’s pleading face. “If he’d wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Why pretend he didn’t know me?”

  “Because he didn’t know you. Because he’s Ezra Ermine, not Solomon Wodge,” Farrah huffed. “Listen, please, I made up a plan. You and I go back to the shop and you can look him over some more, ask some questions if you want. Thomas can stay outside in case something hinky goes down.”

  It sounded reasonable. They really did need those herbs if they stood any chance of getting out of here. Her suspicion flared again.

  “Why do you even care?” she asked meanly.

  Farrah blinked a few times and shrugged. “That portal changed my life— saved my life. And you’re the one who opened it, so I guess that means you saved my life. I like it here, I like Mrs. Hedley, and she’s already said she could find me work to do if I stay, but you and Thomas want to go to 1814, so I figure I should help you. You know, be grateful and all that.”

  Tilly could see how hard it was for Farrah to get that out, her face settling back into its disdainful lines now that her speech was over.

  “How old are you?” Tilly asked out of the blue. Underneath all her bluster and bruises, she looked very young.

  “Nineteen,” she said. “Well, almost nineteen.”

  Tilly squeezed the bridge of her nose, not wanting Farrah to see how much this upset her. Her compassionate side rushed to take over, longing to trust her and give her a chance to prove herself.

  “Okay, we’ll go back to the shop, but Thomas stays outside and we tell Mrs. Hedley about it so she can send help if none of us make it back. You understand if you’re wrong, you might get killed? He might be all sugar and roses to you, but he’s got a major beef with me.”

  Once again she shrugged, breaking Tilly’s heart. “I’m not wrong,” she said.

  ***

  They decided to take a carriage this time, and while they rolled creakily through the crowded streets of Victorian London, even the sights and sounds couldn’t distract Tilly from thinking she’d made a terrible mistake. She needed to be more Ashford-like, use her brain and not her emotions, but somehow Farrah had swayed her into getting another look at Wodge, or Ermine, and hopefully being proven wrong.

  They got out about a block from the apothecary shop and crept along at a snail’s pace, Thomas repeating over and over again that he would give them no more than fifteen minutes before charging in.

  “Don’t charge in, get help,” Tilly said, feeling that no amount of reinforcements would save them if Wodge wanted them out of the way.

  She recalled the things these powerful witches could do. When she’d first met Solomon’s father, Liam, he’d cast a hex that kept Ashford from checking into the pub where they were having their meeting, making him completely disregard the place, even though Ashford was going mad trying to find her at the time. He never would have passed it by if it hadn’t been under the hex.

  Wodge might even go so far as to make Thomas forget he’d ever known them if he suspected he was waiting outside, or just zap them all into frogs and use their legs for spells. She didn’t want to be part of a spell, and almost turned and fled, leaving those two to their own devices.

  “I’ll wait here,” Thomas said, just around the corner from the shop. If he peeked around the alleyway, he could see the front door. He took out a pocket watch, which gave Tilly a heart-stabbing reminder of Ashford. “Fifteen minutes,” he said sternly.

  “Yes, Lord Adkins,” Tilly said, causing Farrah to giggle and Thomas to turn beet red. She felt instantly contrite and squeezed his hand. “I know you won’t let us down.”

  To both their surprise, and Thomas’ clear delight, Farrah threw her arms around him in a one second hug.

  “See you in a few minutes,” she said jauntily, setting off at such a pace Tilly had to run to catch up with her.

  The door was slightly ajar, which for some reason creeped Tilly out to no end, like the beginning of a horror movie.

  Calm down, she told herself.

  A pile of books blocked the entry and they pushed them out of the way with their feet. Dust motes swirled in the air and the heavy wooden door that had been previously barred shut was
also ajar. As soon as they made it to the counter, Wodge, no, Ermine— Tilly had to give him a chance— came through the curtain looking harried.

  “Oh, my dear, it’s lovely to see you again so soon,” he said, eyes shifting nervously back toward the curtain. “I’m terribly sorry, was the door open? You can see what a mess it is in here, I’ve been trying to complete a large order and as usual can’t find half of what I need. I thought I’d closed up for the day.”

  “We don’t care about a little mess, do we?” Farrah said cheerfully.

  Tilly dutifully shook her head, but something was off about Ermine-Wodge. He looked pale and slightly sweaty. He made her so nervous she wanted to glance away, but forced herself to take in his features, try to find something that would make him definitively not Wodge. There wasn’t a thing. She would swear on a stack of bibles that they were the same person. He looked from Farrah to her, and there still wasn’t a spark of recognition. He only looked like he wanted them to leave. And she was fine with that.

  “If you’re too busy and you weren’t meant to be open—” she said, getting a hard nudge in the ribs from Farrah.

  At the same time a scraping noise sounded from behind the barred door, as if someone was dragging something heavy and metal up a staircase. Ermine-Wodge’s eyes cut to the door and just as quickly back to them, his face frozen in an overly wide smile.

  “No, no, not at all. In fact I just received the herbs you wanted, ahead of schedule!” He came around the counter and took both their arms, hustling them toward the curtain. Tilly’s instinct was to dig in her heels, but Farrah flounced ahead, joyously exclaiming what good luck that was.

  “I just need to show you how to grind them,” he said, opening the curtain for them to pass into the back room. “It’s a specialized process or you’ll completely ruin the one plant.” He pushed them through the curtain, looking back over his shoulder as he followed.

  Tilly found herself not in a torture chamber like she’d feared, but a spotlessly clean workroom, completely unlike the shambles of the outer shop. Two walls were lined with smooth white marble countertops with various bowls and pestles and other tools, and another wall was hung floor to ceiling with bundles of drying herbs and flowers. He looked around and nodded toward another door at the far end of the room.

  “They’re just in there,” he said, swallowing convulsively. “If you don’t mind, Miss Lawson?” He opened the door, which revealed a rickety wooden stairway leading down into absolute darkness. “Let me just get you a candle,” he said.

  A loud thump sounded from the front and with a guttural groan, he shoved Farrah down the stairs, grabbing Tilly’s arm in a vice-like grip. Tilly reached for her with her free hand, but it was too late, she’d completely disappeared. Tilly winced when she heard her hit the floor with a cry of pain a moment later.

  She turned and slammed her fist toward Wodge’s face just as he pushed her toward the stairs. She managed to barely swipe the side of his jaw as she lost her balance and teetered backward. Scraping her fingers along the rough brick wall to try to keep from going down after Farrah, Wodge swiped her feet out from under her and slammed the door shut as she tumbled into blackness.

  Chapter 14

  Ashford felt a bit abandoned when Kostya left to speak with the physician and hopefully get good news. He had a feeling he wouldn’t return as he knew Serena well enough to know she’d be in an awful snit for having to see the physician in the first place, when she’d been insisting she was fine. Ashford didn’t think she was acting one hundred percent herself, either, but he also thought Kostya was being overprotective and worried.

  He hated himself for not being more concerned, but he had more pressing things on his mind right now. Namely the three scrying spells Kostya had found for him, each one more difficult and ambitious than the next.

  He decided to start with the easiest one. It involved a pan of water, an item from the individual he wished to spy on, and a mortifying chant. Cook provided him with the pan, and he locked himself in his study, closing the curtains tight for good measure, in case a gardener happened to look toward the window and see him. He dropped one of Matilda’s baubles that she loved so much into the water and started saying the words, glancing down at the page to make sure he wasn’t messing it up. As he suspected, but still to his deep disappointment, nothing happened.

  He pushed the pan aside, sloshing water onto his desk, and slumped into his chair. Something bright red across the room caught his eye and he saw it was a ball belonging to Serena’s accursed dogs.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” he said aloud, plucking the piece of jewelry out of the pan and replacing it with the ball. Kostya had told him to start small. Instead of trying to find a person in a different year, he’d try to see a dog that resided in the same house.

  After focusing his mind and saying the spell again, to his amazement, the water began to swirl, or appear to swirl, and after a moment, he saw one of the wee fiends frolicking in the back garden. He was so excited he lost his concentration and found himself staring at a pan full of water and the red ball, but he’d done it.

  He raced outside, startling three servants with his fast pace, and almost knocking Serena over as he reached the garden.

  “Where are your wee dogs?” he demanded. “Was one just now playing under that tree?”

  She sighed deeply and scowled at him, but saw he was dead serious in his question and nodded. “I think so. Yes, Dotty thought she saw a mole and went after it just a moment ago. Why?”

  He couldn’t speak, he forgot to ask her if she was feeling better, he only grabbed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead, so grateful he’d got it right. Ignoring her stunned look, he tore back to practice some more, certain he’d get it right in time. He prayed Matilda would stay in the same place for a while, so he could locate her and figure out how to get to her.

  ***

  Tilly woke to a muffled crying sound and struggled to regain her vision. It wasn’t pitch black after all, there was a faint flickering light coming from the far corner of the cellar. Something hot and wet fell on her forehead and she sat up abruptly, causing a shooting pain in her neck. She gingerly dabbed at her forehead and gasped when she poked a sore spot. Her fingers came away gooey with blood, which she wiped on the cold floor.

  In the dim light she saw Farrah had been huddling over her crying quietly and it took her a second to remember everything that had happened. They’d been fooled and now they were trapped. Her neck ached from the fall down the stairs and she twisted around, trying to determine if anything else might be hurt.

  “Thank goodness you’re alive,” Farrah sobbed into her skirts, trying to stay quiet but overcome with emotions. “I thought you were dead and I was all alone.”

  Well, it wasn’t a deep well of caring, but at least it was caring.

  Tilly crawled up the splintery stairs and found the door was barred fast, which didn’t surprise her, but she had to know for sure.

  “We’re trapped,” she said needlessly when she returned to Farrah’s side. “How do you suppose that happened?” she asked, feeling bitter both towards Farrah and herself for going along with her.

  She wiped her tears and groaned, something between a laugh and a sob. “The man I thought I was in love with got me hooked on pills and turned me out to his friends for money. And now this. Why am I such a bad judge of character?”

  Tilly didn’t know and as great as her pity was in that moment, she knew she had to keep her wits about her, and get Farrah to stop sniveling and get angry.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being trusting,” she ground out. “He’s the bad person, not you. Let’s feel around for something we can whack him with when he comes back. One good thing about Wodge is he’s kind of a blabbermouth. He’ll want to gloat before he kills us, and maybe we can get the upper hand during that time.”

  “When I found the candle, I think there were some shelves over there,” she said, her voice sounding stronger. “When I l
anded, I rolled over into the wall and felt around until I found it. I only just managed to get it lit right before you woke up. I was terrified the fall killed you.”

  Tilly rolled her shoulders, feeling shooting pains all down her spine. “It feels like it did, but I seem to still be here. You start at that side and I’ll start over here. Anything and everything heavy or sharp. If you think it can hurt someone, grab it.” Tilly grasped for something else to take her mind off their horrible situation. “I went to an eighties themed party once,” she told her, recalling Farrah had said she’d traveled from 1984.

  “Seriously? Why?”

  “Your time is considered pretty cool, very retro. A lot of the styles were trying to come back around the time I first left for the past. Anyway, I wore a side ponytail to that party, and my friend wore a big bow headband.”

  Farrah snorted. “Naff,” she chuckled. “Oh, I think I found some shears. Perfect for stabbing.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Tilly encouraged, feeling around, but her fingers only finding dusty jars and crunchy bundles of dried flowers. “I’ve got nothing over here except bottles and jars.”

  “Better than nothing.” She made a noise like she was trying to lift something heavy. “Crack one over his head and if it breaks, slice him up with the shards.”

  Tilly giggled nervously at her new bloodthirsty attitude. They’d need it if they had any hope of surviving. She wondered if it had been fifteen minutes yet, and if Thomas had set off for help. She heard the door creak at the top of the stairs and she spun to look at Farrah. Her face barely showed in the weak circle of candlelight, but Tilly could see how scared she was. A rush of pity almost overwhelmed her at the pathetic girl, tossed from one frying pan straight into this blazing fire. It seemed so unfair, and ultimately it was her fault for tampering with the portal.