She belted her robe tightly and pushed back her hair. Maybe she’d imagined touching the candle holder. Maybe it was all another symptom of her stress. Maybe she’d dreamed it all, including the captivating Quinn, who had provoked such abandon in her.
Hastily she thrust her bare feet into a pair of shoes, then ventured out to check on the horses. The moonlight was bright enough that she didn’t need a flashlight. There was nothing amiss in the barn, all was tightly locked up. No prowlers, four-footed or otherwise. She spoke reassuringly to the animals and closed everything up, then, shivering in the cool night air, she hurried back to the house and bolted the door behind her. She slipped out of the footwear, remaining in her long robe over the old T-shirt she slept in.
The door to the living room was shut and she hesitated a moment, her hand on the knob. She wouldn’t be able to sleep even if she returned to bed. Supposing the Mastertons were there, behind the door, playing out another few minutes in their lives?
Suppose Quinn was there, no longer a dream? Suppose she could see him, prove to herself she hadn’t imagined it all? She couldn’t help herself, she would take another look. After all, she didn’t have to go close to the glass.
She braced herself for whatever she might see in the mirror and flung open the door, clicking on the lights.
The room was silent, the mirror blank.
But on her mantel stood a candlestick, the twin of the one she had touched through the glass.
She clutched her robe tight to her neck and shivered again, this time with anticipation. The magic of the mirror was real. Maybe it was the candlestick passing 17
Margrett Dawson
through the glass that had called her from her sleep. Whatever the explanation, the family would appear again. They had to.
The old photograph was propped on a small side table and she left it there. She’d held it last time she’d looked into the mirror, and it hadn’t provided a link to the family.
This time she wouldn’t need a prop.
Quinn was not in the photograph, but his face was etched clearly in her mind. Her body still felt the languid flush of the orgasm she’d provoked with the vibrator, the delicate flesh between her legs warm and moist, still slightly swollen. Her mind skittered between the image of Quinn and the feel of the dildo deep inside her. The two were becoming inextricably linked.
To distract herself, she fussed with the cushions on the couch, found a stool for her feet, spread an afghan over her lap. She placed a notepad and pen at her elbow. Writing everything down as it happened would help her convince herself that whatever she saw might see was real. She scribbled the date and time at the top of the page. Then she turned down her lights, leaving one lamp lit at her elbow. She’d noticed she could see more clearly into the room when her own lights were dim.
Her hands crept under the cover and toward her lap. No, no more! It would be far too easy to relax, to let her mind imagine Quinn was here with her, touching her, arousing her… She wanted her wits about her, wanted to take note of everything that happened.
She sprang to her feet. Although she rarely drank, maybe a sip of wine would steady her and keep her roving hands occupied. She poured herself a small glass and took a sip. At last, when she could find no more reason to delay, she raised her eyes and looked deep into the mirror.
The room in Quinn’s house must have appeared in the few moments it took her to pour the wine. It was fully visible, as if waiting for her to pay attention to it. But it must have been quite late, for the lights were dim there too, and Mr. Masterton’s newspaper lay crumpled beside his chair. Cups still sat on the small tables where the family had left them. A faint sound came from behind the glass and Elaine realized she could hear the ticking of a clock.
The whisper of dying coals shifting in the grate of the magic room made her start, sending her wine over the rim of her glass. She grabbed a tissue from her pocket, not taking her eyes from the scene in the mirror.
She put her glass down and, despite her promises to herself, drew nearer to the mirror. She had been able to touch, and she could hear what was happening in the room. An object had traversed the glass into her world. She was being drawn more and more into this fantasy realm. Her fingers itched to skim the glass, to see if her hand would pass through it again. She wanted to know if the barrier between her and the Masterton family had gone forever, but her ambivalent feelings rose again and she dared not.
18
Heart’s Delight
Suddenly the door to the reflected drawing room opened with a crash and she started back, withdrawing her hand. Quinn rushed into the room. His disheveled hair hung in disarray over his forehead. His elegant clothes were mud-stained and a sleeve hung loose from the fine jacket. The stock around his neck sat awry, but the diamond pin still gleamed.
He came close to the mirror and Elaine gasped, taking a step back. One side of his face was covered with a dark bruise and blood dripped from a gash near his eye. He supported one arm, the one with the torn sleeve, as if it pained him to move it.
Elaine gazed into his eyes. Her heart did a funny little flip, then began to beat a little faster.
He leaned his other elbow on the mantel and pushed back his hair, then pulled out a piece of cloth from a pocket. His eyes still on the glass, he dabbed at the cut over his eye. Bright red stained the white. Elaine bit her lip.
The door behind him opened again and Mrs. Masterton appeared, obviously in night attire, a shawl around her shoulders and a candle in her hand. She crossed the room quickly and laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Quinn,” she said in a low voice. “What has happened? What have you done this time?”
“Done, dear sister? I have done nothing.” He turned from the mirror. “What has happened is that a man I played cards with accused me of cheating. He sent thugs who set upon me on my way home.”
Cards? Cheating? “No,” Elaine whispered aloud. “Quinn wouldn’t cheat.”
“And did you?” Mrs. Masterton asked.
“I’m disappointed in you, Margaret. If I knew how to cheat in the games they play here, I would never have lost so consistently.”
Right. No cheating. But risky card playing.
He gave a hollow laugh. “Not very observant footpads, for they left me Father’s pin.” He tucked the diamond more securely into his cravat.
“You promised you wouldn’t play,” his sister wailed.
“I did indeed, but what else is a man to do in this godforsaken colony? Walter won’t let me into his business. I’ll have no news from the principals of the Cariboo Gold Company before next week. God knows I know nothing of farming or surviving in the bush.” He dabbed at his eye, which had begun to bleed again. “Maybe I should go off and trap beavers and live in a shack—”
Margaret gave him a stern look. “Are you sure it was only about cards? Nothing else?” She folded her arms. “Was there a woman involved?”
He dabbed at his lip. “Well, there was lady in the bar. I bought her a drink, and one of the fellows got a bit upset—”
Elaine heard pounding and raucous shouts.
19
Margrett Dawson
“Hush, Quinn.” Margaret placed fingers on his mouth. “There is someone at the door.”
“They followed me.” Quinn straightened his jacket. “I can face them.”
“No, they’ll kill you.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t cheat and I’ll fight to prove it.”
“Don’t be foolish. Use your head, for goodness’ sake. There are several of them.”
Indeed, it sounded as if a large group was now demanding entrance. “Let me get at him!” someone yelled.
Margaret lifted her head. “I will deal with them.” She gave a defiant twitch to her shawl and marched toward the door. Good girl, Margaret. You’ve got spunk. As Margaret reached for the door handle, Walter appeared in a dark robe, a nightshirt peeping from under the hem.
“What the devil’s going on?” he boomed
.
“Hush, dear,” said his wife. “Some ruffians—a misunderstanding—” She looked back at Quinn. “Walter and I will send them away. You make yourself scarce.” She ushered her husband from the room and closed the door.
Even if Margaret and Walter were successful in stopping the assailants tonight, they might lie in wait for him another day. Who knew what they would do to Quinn if they found him? She searched her memory for any detail on crime in Victoria in the 1800s. Chances were that the city wasn’t all that well policed.
Quinn half turned to lean more heavily against the mantel. He rubbed the back of his head as if it hurt. “Godforsaken country,” he muttered. “Damned savages. Damned head making me dizzy.”
A crash sounded from beyond the door. Loud voices rose in protest. Quinn looked around and seized the remaining candlestick, brandishing it like a weapon. He was hurt and in danger. Without a second thought Elaine stretched out her hand. It passed through the glass over the mantel, causing a shimmer on the surface.
She tapped him on the shoulder. He turned in surprise and she extended her hand to him. As if in a dream, he stretched out his hand. She clasped it firmly and drew him toward her. He gasped in astonishment and she felt the shift in his weight as he stepped up on a stool to peer at her. With a grin, the remaining candlestick still firmly in his grasp, he climbed onto the ledge of the chimney mantel. With no effort at all she pulled him through the glass and into her living room.
Quinn scrambled over the wooden rim and hopped down into what he supposed were part of the servants’ quarters. Who would have thought that staid sister Margaret would have a bolt-hole built into her living room? Or was it Walter who might need to make a quick getaway? Sly devil.
He turned his head to look back at the wall through which he’d escaped. Pretty good. The mirror was a perfect fit. Solid-looking. It had swung back into place without 20
Heart’s Delight
him even realizing it. It cut out all the sound from the other side too, so presumably his pursuers couldn’t hear him. Pity he’d had to turn tail, though.
No matter, beggars can’t be choosers. He straightened his jacket and then remembered that his sleeve was half ripped off. Damned nuisance. This was his one good suit.
He replaced the candlestick he held in his fist next to its mate. As he gazed into the mirror, flicking dust from his sleeve, he caught a movement reflected in the glass. He whirled ‘round.
He was not alone.
A young woman sat on the couch in a pose of frozen horror and watched him as if he’d appeared from the mouth of Hades. Must be one of the kitchen maids. Was she the one who’d helped him through the hole? It had all happened so fast—
“Sorry to bother you.” Quite a pretty little thing she was, with nice chestnut hair and blue eyes that looked as if they’d beheld a ghost. Pity he hadn’t seen her around the house before. She added greatly to the decor. “Bit of a rude entry, I’m afraid. I’ll leave you my coat,” he said, unbuttoning it as he spoke. “Just get it mended for me, would you? Then I’ll be on my way. Point me in the direction of the back door, there’s a good girl.” He threw the blue jacket on the seat beside her and she gave a little start, then put one hand to her throat and shook her head wordlessly.
“Look, I didn’t mean to frighten you, but you’d better get rid of me before Cook finds you with a man. Don’t want to lose your position, do you?”
She found her tongue. “I pulled you through.”
He remembered the hand. “So it was you? Couldn’t see the face. Mighty enterprising of you. Just in the nick of time, I’d say. I’ll have to find out how that works when I’m a bit less pressed for time. Now I’m going to make myself scarce for a few days.” He strode toward the door. “Is this the way?”
“It’s different,” she said. “Everything’s different. You can’t go that way.”
“What are you talking about, girl?” He was disappointed. Most of Margaret’s servants seemed a bit lacking in the mental department and this one was no exception.
It must be hard to find good help in the Colonies. The conversation was giving him a chance to look at her some more and what he saw confirmed his first impressions. She was wearing a long robe of a bluish color, her neck was smooth and creamy and she’d cinched the gown around a delightfully narrow waist. If Margaret tidied her up and dressed her right, she’d be able to hold her own in society. Apart from the sad fact of her mental impairment, of course. He liked an intelligent woman beside him even if she was only for tupping.
He took another step toward the door and this time she put out a hand to hold his sleeve.
What was a man to do? He stopped and turned to her. He spoke kindly, for she could not help lacking wits. “Forgive me, my dear. I’d dearly love to linger with you, but time is pressing, not to mention my pursuers.”
21
Margrett Dawson
He saw her swallow hard, making a lovely ripple pass down her throat. He caught a flowery scent that made his blood start to hum.
“Quinn,” she said. “You’ve come through to a different time.”
“Time?” he chuckled. “It’s only been a few minutes since you opened the secret door for me.” He patted his waistcoat. “Reminds me, I pawned my watch. Damned inconvenient.”
The mention of the secret door drew his eyes back to the mirror. “It’s damned clever. You’d never know it was a door, would you? I’ve heard of the secret passages in Chinatown but this takes the biscuit.” He retraced a step, leaned forward and ran a hand around the carved wooden edging. “Can’t feel a latch or a hinge. Marvelous.”
The girl spoke again. “There aren’t any.”
He looked at her. Poor thing. “I daresay it’s too complicated for you, my dear.
What’s your name?”
“El-Elaine.”
He straightened. “Well, Ellie, my girl, this won’t do. You have to show me the way through the kitchens and I’ll be on my way. Don’t forget my coat, there’s a good girl.”
The girl stood up and took in a deep breath, which proved very interesting as her breasts moved under the light cotton wrapper, making his loins tighten. “Sit down, Quinn,” she said in a firm voice, “and stop fooling around. You have to listen to me.”
Her demeanor had completely changed from just a few minutes ago. She looked him straight in the eye and pointed to the settee thing where she’d been sitting.
“I’m not joking,” she said. “This is serious.”
Despite himself, he found himself obeying her imperiously pointing finger. “My goodness, Ellie,” he said. “You had me fooled. Thought you were a bit slow, you know.”
“I know. And I was in shock for a few minutes. I didn’t know what to say or do when you actually came through.” She sat down on a kind of footstool, arranging the folds of the robe around her legs “Look around you, Quinn. Does this look like part of your sister’s house?”
He turned his head to glance at the far corners of the room. There was a fireplace under the mirror just as he expected. The light was dim, but seemed to come from a glowing bulb that didn’t flicker. Over on a desk on the other wall was a big gray box with a glass screen and another black one that was similar, yet not quite the same, stood in a corner. Beside him on an end table a sleek instrument offered no clue as to its purpose. Suddenly it gave off a ringing sound that made him jump.
“Never mind,” Ellie said. “The answering machine will take it.” Sure enough, the ringing stopped and a red light appeared on the instrument.
Ellie leaned forward. “I don’t know how or why, but you have come through that mirror into the beginning of the twenty-first century.”
He shook his head. “Now I do think you’ve lost your wits.”
22
Heart’s Delight
“What day do you think it is?”
“Close to midnight on June 21, 1880.”
“It’s June 21, but the year is two thousand and five.”
It di
dn’t surprise Elaine in the slightest that it took Quinn a few minutes to understand what she was saying. She’d felt his hand in hers through the glass, but she’d let go when he’d thrust his head and shoulders into the room, scuttling backward
‘til the backs of her legs hit the couch.
He wandered around the room, touching everything, picking up small objects then replacing them.
He turned to her. “Am I in a real-life Jules Verne adventure?”
“It would seem so.”
He resumed his inspection of the room. “How could it happen?”
“I think it’s something to do with the mirror. A candlestick came through first.” She pointed to the silver holder.
He moved back to the fireplace where the two candle holders sat side by side. “So that’s where it is. Margaret couldn’t understand where it had disappeared to.” He touched the metal. “It’s real enough.”
He shook his head. “I can’t take it in.” Turning back to her, he pointed to the glass on the side table. “Can I have some of that wine?”
She nodded and he drained the glass, then looked around him again, then back at the mirror. “It looks like the mirror in Margaret’s drawing room.” He replaced the empty glass.
“I received the mirror yesterday and it seemed as if I could see through it at times.”
She didn’t divulge how often she’d sat and watched his sister’s family like some episode of a soap opera in period costume.
“Received?” He frowned. “How could you receive a mirror that hung in my sister’s house not fifteen minutes ago?”
“It’s not fifteen minutes. It’s over a hundred years. Your sister’s house was demolished some time ago. It was old and in bad repair.”
He shook his head in bewilderment. “Poor Margaret,” he said softly. “She was so proud of her house.” He looked at her sharply. “But I still can’t believe this. This isn’t some kind of trick, is it? You’re not in league with those footpads and haven’t slipped me one of those dream pills they sell in Chinatown, have you?”
“No, it’s true, although I’m having trouble believing it too.” She stood up. Her knees were still a bit shaky, but not so he would notice. She picked up the photograph.
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