Belmary House Book Six

by Cassidy Cayman

  “It’s rather scandalous actually,” Ariana said, certain her face was bright red now. “I live with him, or rather he lives with me. He’s a bit of a kept man.” Bit of, she thought sourly. Completely was more like it. She shook off those unkind thoughts, knowing he was right now probably crossing the sea to get to Italy to try and make his own money.

  Dahlia’s eyes widened. “That is scandalous,” she said. “Your upper crust Earl father is okay with that?”

  Shame made Ariana look away. “I’m not promiscuous, mind you,” she stammered. “I haven’t— he only lives at my country estate along with the other … never mind that.”

  “Never mind what?” Dahlia instantly asked. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t show you what I came here to show you. And believe me, you’ll want to see it.”

  “Impertinent girl,” Ariana scolded. “I’m certain I have no interest in anything you could possibly show me.”

  Dahlia smiled and shrugged. “Not even pictures of your mum and Dex when they were young?” Her smile grew wider when she saw Ariana was about to burst with curiosity. “Well, whatever, then. Let’s go to sleep.”

  Ariana knew she could wait until morning and ask Cousin Dexter to show her, but would he be as forthcoming as this wee brat might?

  “Very well,” Ariana said. “I suppose you probably already know since you know about the portal. The people who live at my estate are witches.” She waited for a gasp but Dahlia only nodded. “Real witches.”

  “I didn’t think you meant fancy dress witches,” Dahlia said. “I mean, you came through a cursed portal from however many hundred years ago. You think I’m going to be shocked by witches?”

  “I didn’t use the portal. I used a spell.”

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” Dahlia said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she leaned close. “Wait. Does that mean you can go to different times without being in Belmary House?”

  Ariana nodded slowly. “I like to use the house because so far that room is always shut up and it feels safe.” She shuddered at her fear of turning up in a crowd of people, or underground, or underwater. The list of places she didn’t want to end up during time travel got progressively worse. She noticed Dahlia’s glowing face which cut the phobia short. “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned.

  “I’ve already got the idea. You have to take me back in time.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I want to go to a ball and wear a corset and oh my goodness, I’ll bet five quid could buy me some amazing jewelry. I could probably get a horse and carriage with a tenner.”

  “Not even close. And no. I do not have to take you back in time. What a ridiculous idea.”

  Dahlia screwed up her face into a terrible pout. “Then I’ll make sure you never see any of the pictures I was going to show you. I’ll hide them until Dex makes you go back.”

  Ariana sighed in disgust. Was this what she had been like when she was fourteen? She was probably worse, spoiled as she was by her father. Before she could start missing her father, she twisted the ruby ring off her finger and tossed it into Dahlia’s lap. “That’s probably worth a fair bit. Now, will you show me the pictures?”

  Dahlia’s pale cheeks flamed and she handed back the ring. “I was only teasing.”

  Ariana waved off the bauble. “Ah, keep it. I don’t much care for it. I’m sick to death of rubies.”

  “But it’s so pretty. And massive.” She put it on her first finger since it was too large for her ring finger and admired it. “If you’re sure?” She giggled. “I suppose I’m doing you a favor since you’re sick to death of it. What must that feel like?”

  Ariana wanted to tell her it was quite an unhappy, empty feeling but stayed silent. “The pictures?” she prodded.

  “Oh, right.” Dahlia, reached behind her and pulled several unwieldy books off the shelf. “My mum got this bee in her bonnet to start scrapbooking so that’s why we have them all printed. Dex says it’s an awful waste of paper but I rather like them.”

  She scooted next to Ariana and balanced a bright red book between them, flipping it open to the first page. It was a riot of paper flowers, ribbons, and frills, and amongst all that was a portrait of Cousin Dexter and her mother. They were mere children, smudged with dirt and dressed in something that looked scandalously like men’s underthings. Her mother’s hair was in a scraggly tail on top of her head and she cradled a large orange ball under one arm, her other arm draped over Dexter’s shoulder. They both had ridiculously happy grins on their faces. She squinted down at the handwriting under the portrait.

  “No one can agree who won this game, but it was most likely Tilly,” she read aloud. “Is that a basketball? It’s so bright and round. We play that game at the Scotland estate. My mum invented it.”

  Dahlia snorted. “First of all, I’m going to find a way to start saying ‘the Scotland estate’ in everyday conversation. And second of all, no, she didn’t. It’s an American game. She played in high school. I think they were about twelve in that pic.”

  “So she lied about that, too.” Ariana turned page after page, touching each portrait. Her mother had been so young and vibrant, wearing the ugly, skimpy clothes of her real time. “How are these so lifelike? Who is the artist? It must have cost a veritable fortune to have so many portraits commissioned.” She leaned closer, studying the colorful details. “They can’t be photographs, not with this vibrant detail. I know someone in 1889 who had a photograph made and it’s fuzzy and brown.”

  With a tisk, Dahlia held up the small metallic tablet that never left her side and said, “Smile.”

  Ariana blinked when Dahlia turned the device around and showed her a perfectly rendered image of herself looking slack-jawed and stupid.

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “How?”

  Dahlia rolled her eyes. “From someone who can travel through time. It’s just a camera. It’s in my phone.” She held it up again and instructed Ariana to wave and smile. She woodenly complied and was awestruck to see herself doing the action on a loop. “I can make a whole movie of you,” she said. “In fact, that’s a brilliant idea. If I could document you time traveling, we could both be famous. And rich. Which I guess doesn’t bother you much, but I’d like to know what it’s like to have endless cash.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ariana said, flustered by this magic she didn’t understand and that Dahlia didn’t seem the least bit impressed with. “Not everyone can do it, and they might exploit those who can. They most definitely would do that.”

  She shuddered at the thought of being enslaved, studied. Forced to do magic for those who wanted material gain. She felt slightly guilty at her own money making schemes that never could have worked without using magic.

  The door to the hallway opened and Dex stuck his head in, causing them both to gasp. Ariana dropped the book of pictures as guiltily as if it were her family’s grimoire.

  “And besides that,” he said dryly, “batteries don’t do well with crossing time. Believe me, I’ve tried. You’d never get the proof you need, so put that mad plan out of your mind right now, young lady.” He leveled a gimlet eye on Dahlia.

  “Always with the eavesdropping,” she huffed, standing up and stamping her foot. “God, I can’t stand it.” She stormed past him and slammed into her room.

  Ariana was mortified but Dexter only closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer. “Go on along with her,” he said. “You’ll have to go to work with me tomorrow, so we’ll be leaving at eight. I’ll see if I can rearrange my schedule and take you around London a bit before you go back.”

  She pressed her lips together to keep from retorting that she’d go back when she was good and ready, not wanting to sound as bratty as Dahlia. He grinned, seeming to see right through her. With a huff, she slipped past him and stormed her own way to Dahlia’s room.

  Chapter 8

  Tilly woke abruptly to the sound of a door slamming. She found herself slumped over in one of the armchairs
in Ashford’s study, a rivulet of drool heading down her chin. She irritably wiped it away and straightened up. The last three sleepless nights had taken their toll on her and she’d finally drifted off while helping Ashford study. Well, really more like hover over him and nag him to find something that would work to find Ariana. Three long days that could have been weeks or months for their daughter. She turned angrily to the source of the banging door and saw Kostya looking as haggard as she felt, and covered in dust to boot.

  “The ceiling came down on me with the last try,” he said, shaking bits of plaster out of his hair and then wincing in pain. “Or rather, it sent me up to the ceiling and then we both came down. Thankfully your suggestion of laying blankets on the floor kept me from breaking some bones.” He nodded to her with anything but a grateful look.

  Ashford groaned and made a tick mark on a list next to the huge book, then after a moment of squinting through another pile of papers, held out one of them.

  “Here’s the next one on the list. I must say I’m terribly disappointed that the last one didn’t work, since it didn’t rely on the portal. This newest one’s going to try and open the bloody thing up again. I’m flat out of freestanding spells for the moment.” He blinked over at Tilly. “Oh, you’re awake, love. Do you think you could sort through this pile for me?”

  She jumped up, unsuccessfully pushing down her irritation. “You should have got me up sooner if you had something for me to do. Or not let me fall asleep at all.”

  Ashford pressed his lips together, also unsuccessfully hiding his bad mood. “You needed rest, darling. And it’s not urgent.” He waved the pile of papers at her, his nose already back in the spell book.

  She snatched them from him, her tenuous grip on her emotions snapping. “Not urgent?” she shrieked. “We haven’t made any progress at all. Ariana’s still out there and you think this isn’t urgent?”

  He looked confused by her attack. “I only meant since Kostya has these other spells to try that this particular pile isn’t yet urgent.”

  Embarrassed by her outburst, she hunched back in her chair and tried to focus on the newest spells he’d cobbled together. She didn’t really know what she was looking for, having no clue about any of it. Magic was supposed to be his birthright. Frustration made her hands shake so that she could barely make out his awful handwriting.

  “Why is this taking so long?” she asked no one in particular. No one answered her and she rounded on Kostya. “Why aren’t any of them working? The first ones were straight from the book. Shouldn’t those have worked? Why would they be in there if they weren’t vetted?”

  Kostya shrugged and inched toward the door. “Who’s to say what’s in that foul book?” He waved his hand around in front of him. “And I don’t think this accursed place is helping anything. It’s like there’s a giant hand blocking everything I do.” He scurried away before she could think of a retort.

  “Do you think he should be trying the spells somewhere else?” she asked Ashford, who sighed deeply.

  “I thought we agreed it wasn’t safe. It was you who said he might end up in the middle of a busy highway if things changed over time.”

  He was right, damn him. But her desperation was making her reckless. “What about the woods in the park? They’re probably the same. Green Park is definitely still around in my time.”

  He sighed again. “Call him back, then. Send him to the park. We’ll hope he doesn’t appear in front of a group of children and end up in a future prison. That would go a long way to helping find Ariana.”

  His words made perfect sense despite their sarcastic edge. She was the one who’d made that same argument the other day. But she was past the point of making sense. Sitting around helplessly was making her want to claw at her own skin.

  “It’s just nothing’s working. Why is nothing at all working? It’s as if we’re doing nothing.”

  He slammed his hand down on the page he was reading and looked at her with something alarmingly similar to contempt. “If I’d taken care of things the way I wanted to all those years ago we wouldn’t be here doing nothing in the first place.”

  She stared at him until he shook his head and went back to reading. The look on his face cut her to the marrow, and what was worse was that she knew he was right. He’d wanted to kill that bastard Nick Kerr before Ariana had even been born. The moment he learned the daughter he didn’t yet know had been murdered, he was champing at the bit for justice. But Tilly had wavered.

  How could she let Ashford do such a thing? At that point it wasn’t justice, or even revenge. The man hadn’t done anything yet. Perhaps he never would. Ashford would have been the murderer, plain and simple. They had set out to change the future instead, weaving a web of lies that might have driven Ariana to the very future they’d sought to erase. She watched Ashford’s clenched jaw as he roughly turned page after page in the wretched book.

  They’d been snapping at each other since they discovered how thoroughly Ariana had messed up the portal, their fears growing with every failed attempt to travel through time. They’d barely eaten or slept. That had to be the reason for that look.

  But she wasn’t so sure. There was an almost visible divide between them. In all their eighteen years of marriage she’d never felt so far away from him. Was it only the fear and worry? Her exhausted mind whisked her back to when it was only her, Ashford, and their precious daughter. Ariana was the light of their lives, and they doted on her. Ashford carried her everywhere, refusing to use the fancy pram as they walked along the streets of London.

  When had things really gotten so distant? Was this all just stress? Four children, her charity, his work in the government, their frequent travel amongst the estates. They’d forgotten what it was like to hold hands and sit quietly together, how those quiet times would lead to her leaning closer, stroking his chest. He’d drop a kiss on her brow, her nose, her lips. Soon they’d be in the throes of passion. How long had it been? A different stab of grief broke through her anguish over Ariana. She missed her husband.

  It was such a chore packing everyone up to go to Happenham, and the relatives there were so unsavory, she and the children had opted to skip the last few visits and Ashford had gone alone. Had he stopped missing her? A sob escaped her lips and she quickly stifled it, though not fast enough.

  He looked up from his reading. “I am doing my very best,” he promised tiredly.

  She rushed to him and hugged him. “I’m sorry for being so terrible.”

  He pulled away, more confused than ever, and gently extricated himself from her embrace. “But you haven’t been, my dear.” Turning away, he went back to poring over the book.

  “Don’t be so stoic,” she begged. “Remember when you used to say I was your catalyst? Maybe that’s why you can’t do anything. Because we’ve grown apart. And it’s my fault.” She perched awkwardly on the arm of his chair, wishing he’d sweep her onto his lap. He only stared down at the book, his shoulders stiff and straight. She leaned over and kissed his rumpled hair, brushing her fingers through the strands of silver. There had been too many wonderful years together to let him shut her out now. “I’m so sorry, Julian. I’m sorry we’ve grown apart. I hate it.”

  He softened at her use of his first name and turned to look into her eyes. She felt tears welling as she studied those gray depths, hoping to still see a spark of his love for her there.

  “It’s as much my fault as yours,” he sighed. Finally, he pulled her onto his lap and she clung to him. He tipped her chin so she could see his face and to her joy, the old spark was there. “Life has put a wedge between us, but I love you as much as I always did. More, my darling Matilda. So much more.” He pulled her close and kissed her.

  Electricity raced through her at his touch and she pulled away with a shiver. “We should try something now,” she said breathlessly.

  He looked scandalized, but didn’t release her from his tight grasp. “But shouldn’t we continue working on the spells? Do you t
hink we could spare the time?”

  She blushed, realizing he’d mistaken her suggestion for something far more pleasurable than practicing spells. For a fraction of a second she was tempted to take the time. But fear threatened to crush her and she shook her head.

  “That’s what I meant,” she said. “We should practice spells while we’re so, uh, connected. If your old theory about me being a catalyst to help you channel your magic is true, maybe something will work.”

  He continued to hold onto her waist, but gazed past her at the wall. His eyes glazed over and he sat still for so long she finally squirmed in his lap and put her hand on his cheek. Turning his face back to her, she looked questioningly at him.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s not you, my love,” he said absently, still lost in thought. “I think Kostya might be onto something. It’s the curse. This house. It’s blocking us.”

  She laughed nervously. “He’s just upset about getting tossed around every time he tries a spell.” She glanced around the room, trying not to imagine malevolent spirits in her beloved home.

  “That’s just it,” he said, standing up so abruptly she nearly tumbled to the floor. He grabbed her under the elbows. “If Kostya can’t do anything, something’s wrong. Very wrong. I can see our wee Ariana being able to block up the portal. After all, she’s always been extremely clever.” His scowl showed a mix of irritation and pride. “At any rate, he should still be able to do something, anything, else. He couldn’t even light a candle last night and even I was able to do that once, remember?” Before she was done nodding, he barreled on. “We need to leave here.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, panicking. “What if Ariana comes back and we’re not here? She might take off again.”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “No. She’s not coming back here, that’s clear.” Tilly didn’t understand how it was clear, but the faraway gleam in Ashford’s eyes kept her from arguing. It was as if he’d had an epiphany. “Tell the servants to pack up for you and the children. A long visit.” He leaned over and pulled the bell behind his desk.