Shadows in Time

by Julie McElwain

  Aldridge frowned. “You are still young and beautiful, regardless of your marital status. And London is a dangerous city for a lone woman.”

  Carlotta smiled slightly. “I have faced greater danger before.”

  “Still—”

  “Your Grace,” Kendra raised her voice.

  The Duke finally glanced at her, but shook his head. His gaze returned to the other woman.

  He said, “Mrs. Garcia Desoto, I am not certain I accept this fantastical story of yours, but I cannot disregard it either. I think it would be best if you stayed here whilst I investigate your claim.”

  Carlotta hesitated. “I am aware how this must seem to you, that I am some sort of fortune hunter.” She put her glass of brandy to the side and slowly rose, her gaze never leaving the Duke’s. “If I accept your generous invitation, it is only to further our acquaintance, sir. I do not want anything from you.”

  “Really?” Kendra could feel her lip curl.

  Carlotta glanced at her. “I cannot prove my intentions.”

  The Duke said, “I shall have my coachman drive you back to the inn so you can pack your belongings. A room shall be readied for you when you return.”

  Carlotta bit her lip, searching his face. “Are you certain?”

  “I would not have issued the invitation if I were not.”

  She nodded, offering him a slow, shy smile. “Thank you, sir. I shall accept your invitation. But I want to say again that I wish nothing from you but your company.”

  For a long moment, the Duke said nothing, simply allowing his gaze to rove over the woman’s lovely face. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake and came around the desk to cross the room to the bellpull, yanking the cord to summon a servant.

  Kendra’s unease only grew when she caught the expression that flared for only a second in the Duke’s eyes before he managed to bank it. Hope, she thought. It could be dangerous.

  * * *

  “You don’t believe her, do you?” Even to Kendra’s own ears, the question sounded like an accusation.

  The Duke had returned to the study after seeing Carlotta off. Slowly, he walked back to his desk and lowered himself into his chair. He picked up his clay pipe, weighing it in his hand, a familiar gesture that indicated he was lost in thought.

  Like Carlotta’s tapping three times? Kendra wondered.

  He sighed. “I do not know what to believe,” he admitted quietly.

  His gaze traveled to the windows, but Kendra suspected he wasn’t seeing the blue sky beyond the glazed windowpanes. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of burning logs in the fireplace and the construction and voices drifting in from next door.

  Kendra swallowed against the golf ball–sized lump in her throat and tried again. “Your Grace—”

  “She knew things,” he cut her off. “She knew that Arabella’s scent was lavender. And the name of Charlotte’s doll.”

  “A good imposter would do their research. It’s part of the con. Finding out what scent your wife once wore and the name of your daughter’s favorite doll would be easy. Anyone who lived in Aldridge Village or worked in or around the castle would know that information.” Kendra sat down in the chair that Carlotta had vacated and leaned forward. “We need to find out if anyone has been asking questions around the castle in the last couple of months.”

  The Duke turned back to Kendra. “She remembered me taking her—Charlotte—into my laboratory, up to the roof to show her the stars. The names of the constellations.”

  “Also information easily obtained. Or an educated guess. Your interest in astronomy and science is well known. Hell, we’re in London because you’re attending lectures at the Royal Society. Everyone is aware that you installed a telescope on the castle’s roof. It would be odd if you never tried to include your daughter in some of your interests.”

  “You forget, my dear, that astronomy and science are not interests encouraged in young ladies. This is not your America.”

  Kendra shook her head. “I’m not forgetting. Anyone who knows you would realize that you are not the kind of person to exclude your daughter from less conventional interests.”

  His mouth twisted. “Charlotte was always an inquisitive child.” He hesitated. “She has the look of my daughter.”

  “It’s been two decades,” Kendra argued. “You don’t know what Charlotte should look like as an adult.” She paused, then asked, “What was that about tapping three times?”

  The Duke abandoned the pipe, picking up his brandy glass. He took a slow sip.

  “Charlotte had the same habit,” he finally said. “When my daughter was four, she was besieged with night terrors. Nanny MacTavish didn’t know what to do. For a time, Arabella arranged for a cot to be brought into her bedchamber so she could comfort Charlotte during the night. This went on for weeks. Naturally, we were distraught.” His studied his brandy as if fascinated by the amber liquid. “You are aware that my wife was a brilliant mathematician.”

  Kendra nodded. “You told me, yes.”

  “Well, one evening, Arabella came up with a scheme. She told Charlotte that three was a magical number. Stuff and nonsense, I know.” He raised his gaze to meet her eyes, smiling wryly. “However, it is the first odd prime number, which gives it the power of indivisibility. Pythagoreans actually believed it was the perfect number. It is the first number to form a geometrical figure, that of a triangle. And, of course, three has a special meaning in the Bible.”

  “The Holy Trinity,” Kendra acknowledged with a nod. “The number three is considered a sacred number in many religions and philosophies. There are three primary colors from which all other colors are derived. In fairytales, one gets three wishes… I understand the superstition behind the number three.”

  The Duke smiled. “As you know, normally I am not an advocate of spreading superstitious gibberish, but I recognize that it can be a powerful tool. ’Tis why so many cultures have superstitions, as a method of easing a population’s fears.

  “My wife told Charlotte to tap three times if she ever felt anxious or afraid, because she would be protected. It appeared to comfort her, and eventually the night terrors went away. But Charlotte continued to tap three times, because she thought it was magical.”

  He took another swallow of brandy. “It seems reasonable that she would continue a habit into adulthood even if she may have forgotten its origins.”

  “You think Carlotta tapping three times and saying that it was magic proves that she’s your daughter?”

  “Not proves… but how do you explain it? Mrs. Garcia Desoto did not even realize why she was doing it.”

  “So she says.”

  The Duke shook his head. “Charlotte’s night terrors were not common knowledge. Arabella and I did not discuss it, nor did we speak of Arabella’s method of comforting our daughter.”

  “Maybe you didn’t talk about it, but Charlotte’s nanny probably discussed it with the cook, and the cook shared it with Mr. Harding, who spoke to Mrs. Danbury about it.”

  “Mrs. Danbury was not the housekeeper at the time.”

  “My point is that whoever the household staff was, it would be natural for them to discuss what was going on. They weren’t gossiping. They were concerned. But that’s how information flows.”

  “I cannot dispute that. You believe a charlatan came across this information twenty years later, and is using it as a way to convince me that she is my daughter?”

  “It sounds like it’s working.”

  He said nothing, his expression pensive.

  Kendra’s stomach churned. Her gaze drifted to the glass that Carlotta had discarded. She’d been wearing gloves, so she wouldn’t have left behind fingerprints. Though even if she had, there was no way to collect them and no database to check them against.

  She said, “We have to investigate her claim.”

  “I am not arguing the point, Miss Donovan. But what if she is my daughter?” The hand that held the brandy suddenly trembled, and
he put the glass down. He scrubbed his face with his palms, looking dazed. “My God… what if? It would be a miracle.”

  “Did you listen to her story?”

  Kendra sprang up and reached for the pages of foolscap she’d tossed down. She shook the papers at him.

  “Look at these. There’s hardly anything written here! Everyone who could corroborate her account is dead or will be almost impossible to trace because she and her mother kept moving around, conveniently losing touch with neighbors and friends throughout the years.”

  “Spain was ravaged by war,” he countered. “It is not as incredible as you think for the population of a war-torn country to move about, to escape the brutality.”

  “And her lack of relatives, extended family, friends?”

  The Duke regarded her. “Misfortune happens. And miracles. In fact, I remember listening to another young woman tell me a fantastical story of how she came from the 21st century.”

  Kendra jerked back. “It’s not the same.”

  “Pray tell, what is the difference?”

  “None of this has been in my control!”

  The paper she held fluttered as she waved her hand, gesturing to the room, him, the entirety of the 19th century.

  “If Carlotta is my daughter, much of her life has not been in her control either.”

  He looked as though he were going to say something else, but he paused at a knock and Harding’s entrance.

  “Mr. Kelly has arrived,” said the butler. “Shall I bring him up?”

  The Duke agreed, then waited until Harding had left to push himself to his feet, looking at Kendra.

  “I shall leave you to speak to Mr. Kelly about your investigation into the missing Mr. Pascoe,” he said. “I must inform Caro of our guest.”

  Kendra drew in a breath. “Will you tell her about her claim that she’s your daughter?”

  “Of course. Although I think we ought to be prudent about sharing that information with too many people. I would like to develop my acquaintance with Mrs. Garcia Desoto without the scrutiny of the Beau Monde.”

  “I’d like to talk to Mr. Kelly about sending a couple of his men to Spain, follow the trail,” Kendra said. What little trail there is.

  “Are you asking my permission?”

  “Would you give it?”

  The Duke was quiet for a long moment, his gaze brooding. “Yes,” he finally said. “I am not such a fool as to accept her story without trying to verify it.” His expression lightened. “It took me a few weeks to accept your story, you know.”

  That surprised Kendra. “You seemed to accept it immediately. At least you didn’t throw me out on my ass. What made you believe me?”

  “I was there when you arrived, remember? You came out of the passageway like you were being chased by a madman. I thought you were going to burn yourself on my candles. You seemed mesmerized by them.” He smiled at the memory. “Little did I know that in your time, you’ve harnessed the forces of electricity to push buttons and have lights come on. What a wondrous time you come from, my dear.”

  Kendra had to smile at the marvel she saw in the Duke’s face. “It beats using a tinderbox.”

  “Still, your claim of being from the future was fanciful, to put it mildly,” the Duke reminded her. “So, I continued to observe you. You were not like any other lady—or man, for that matter—of my acquaintance.”

  “Which is another way of saying I’m weird.”

  He laughed. “You were different. But your story somehow… fit.” He tilted his head as he regarded her. “You and I both approach life with deductive reasoning. I am a man of science. But I am also a man of faith. How can you look at the heavens and not see the hand of God? I don’t believe your arrival here was random, especially given what happened during that time.”

  He was talking about the serial killer that had been stalking young prostitutes at the time. Kendra had been instrumental in capturing the killer. She’d been raised by scientists, so her natural inclination was to be leery of attributing anything to the divine. At the same time, even she’d been struck by the coincidence of being the only person who was capable of recognizing the kind of killer they had in their midst. But if that had been the purpose of her arrival, why was she still here?

  “You must have a little faith, my dear,” the Duke said, a small smile on his lips. “I shall pay Mr. Kelly whatever is needed to send men to Spain. And now I shall leave you.”

  He walked to the door, but paused to look back at her. “You ought to leave immediately for Maidenhead. I would like you home before evening.”

  Kendra hesitated, worry gnawing at her. “Maybe I should postpone my trip until tomorrow.”

  “Do not be concerned about me, my dear.” He offered her a lopsided smile that faded. The gray in his eyes seemed to overtake the blue as his expression grew somber. “You must find this missing man. He has loved ones waiting anxiously for his return.”

  6

  Sam let out a low whistle that was quickly carried off by the wind. Kendra was sitting with the Bow Street Runner and her maid, Molly, on narrow wooden seats, their backs against the rails of the wherry. It was a sleek, low-slung boat manned by three muscular watermen, all vigorously rowing. Their efforts were aided by the breeze that was stronger here on the Thames, pushing the boat forward through the choppy waters. Kendra suspected they’d make good time to Maidenhead.

  The vessel itself was small, with the capacity to seat six passengers comfortably, and maybe ten not so comfortably. Thankfully, there was only one other man besides their party, who looked to be a merchant in a greatcoat of brown wool, clutching a worn satchel to his chest. He was hunched on the seat across from them, his attention fixed on the water. He wore the same nervous expression as Molly, which Kendra attributed to her maid’s earlier revelation that capsized wherries and drownings were not an uncommon occurrence on the Thames.

  “Do you reckon there’s a chance that the lass really is His Grace’s daughter?” Sam asked, rubbing his nose.

  Kendra looked to the Bow Street Runner. He was a short, muscular man with an elfin face, reddish-brown hair, and the graying sideburns of someone who’d recently entered their fourth decade of life. His eyes were so light brown that they appeared gold, and currently held the hard, flat expression that she’d always associated with those in law enforcement.

  She’d waited until they were away from the Duke’s residence and settled on the wherry before sharing Carlotta’s story.

  “It’s pretty convenient,” she replied. “Everyone who could verify her story is either dead or she lost touch with them a long time ago. But the Duke isn’t willing to dismiss the possibility.”

  Sam frowned. “The child’s body was never recovered.” The Bow Street Runner had been acquainted with the Duke long enough to know the circumstances surrounding his wife and daughter’s death.

  “No,” Kendra conceded, though it wasn’t a question.

  Sam huffed, then said, “She wouldn’t be the first charlatan ter try ter pass themselves off as one of their betters.”

  “She knew enough information to get His Grace to think that she could be his daughter and invite her to stay with him,” Kendra said. “Carlotta may think she’s clever by pretending to ‘remember’ these things, but it’s also her weakness. You have to send someone to Aldridge Village, find out if anyone has been around asking questions in the last year. Even if they don’t remember questions, they still might remember a stranger in the area.”

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “A full year?”

  “Or more. Carlotta is playing the long game. The Duke of Aldridge is a powerful man. This scheme wasn’t hatched overnight. It takes planning. She had her story down.”

  Sam’s gaze drifted to the brackish water of the Thames as he considered that. “It’ll be a hard trail ter follow in Spain,” he said slowly. “And it’ll probably take considerable time.”

  “I realize that.”

  And she didn’t like it. Frustratio
n burned like an ulcer in her belly. She thought of how easily a DNA paternity test could be conducted in the 21st century. Blood tests were not as reliable to determine a biological connection, but she didn’t even have access to that technology. Hell, it would be another 85 years before Austrian scientist Karl Landsteiner would even begin identifying different blood types in human beings.

  She sighed and said, “We still have to try.”

  Sam nodded. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but hesitated.

  “What?” Kendra prodded, gazing at him.

  “You’ve given a lot of thought ter the woman being a fraud. But have you considered the other possibility, lass? That she really is the Duke’s missing daughter?”

  The chill that raced down Kendra’s arms had nothing to do with the cool breeze coming off the Thames.

  “I’m considering everything.”

  But she had to put it aside to focus on the task at hand.

  The market town of Maidenhead was about seven miles from its more famous neighbor, Windsor. As Sam explained, it had begun as a small hamlet along the River Thames, but its geographic position between London and England’s West Country along the Great West Road made it a desirable location for public coaches and private carriages to stop and water, rest, or change horses, and for passengers to have a meal and a drink, and refresh and relieve themselves before continuing their journey. It was here where King Charles I met with his children to say their final farewells before he traveled to London to be executed.

  The Maidenhead of today wasn’t much changed. The city jostled with activity and boasted a heavy concentration of ancient inns, hostelries, stables, and blacksmith shops. Because of it, the air was heavy with the scent of horse, hay, and manure.

  Sam secured a gig from one of the public stables nearby, a two-wheeled vehicle pulled by a horse. The contraption seated two comfortably, but three in a pinch. Molly managed to squeeze herself between Sam and Kendra without compromising the Bow Street Runner.

  The gig was high enough off the ground to make Kendra’s palms itch. She’d first traveled in a gig a couple of months ago in Yorkshire. At the time, she’d been terrified about being catapulted out and breaking her neck. Now, as Sam jiggled the lines and the horse jolted forward, she realized her fear hadn’t subsided. She grasped the seat’s edge in a white-knuckled grip, tightening her jaw to stop herself from crying out or cursing.