Shadows in Time

by Julie McElwain

  He’d been asking her to marry him for months. He should have said yes and damn the consequences. Devil take it, he couldn’t even claim chivalry for his refusal. He’d said no because he wanted… more. He didn’t want Kendra to marry him because he was a safe harbor for whatever imaginary fears she was dealing with regarding Carlotta. He didn’t want to be second choice.

  “She’s not in the withdrawing rooms,” Rebecca said as she returned, interrupting his brooding thoughts. She looked worried. “Let us return to the ballroom. Mayhap we missed her the first time.”

  Ice settled in his belly. “I don’t think she’s here.”

  “But where would she go? Why would she leave?” Rebecca paused, then suggested, “She might be out in the gardens.”

  Alec grasped Rebecca’s elbow, steering her down the hall to the ballroom. Briefly, they paused to scan the ballroom, in case Kendra had been outside and returned. When they couldn’t find her, they continued on to the French doors.

  “Perhaps you should wait here while I search the gardens,” Alec said, hesitating.

  Rebecca gave him a look. “I think my reputation can survive walking with a man I’ve known since childhood in the gardens. Come on, Sutcliffe. I’m as concerned about Miss Donovan as you are.”

  Alec decided it was pointless to argue. They slipped outside. The light from the ballroom spilled across the empty stone verandah. They crossed it and went down the steps to the garden, which was shrouded in shadows.

  “I don’t see her,” Rebecca said. “If you had a quarrel, do you think she would leave? Go home?”

  “It’s Kendra Donovan. Anything is possible.” He strode forward. His foot landed on something and he heard a sharp crack. “Damnation!”

  “What is it?”

  He bent to carefully retrieve what was left of the shattered glass.

  “I gave Miss Donovan my lemonade,” Rebecca said, and there was a note of dawning horror in her voice. She looked up, her face paler than normal in the moonlight. “Did she drop it?”

  The ball of ice already in Alec’s stomach spread through his bloodstream. “Not voluntarily.”

  “You think… you think someone has taken her?”

  He tossed the glass to the side and grabbed Rebecca’s elbow, spinning around to sprint toward the verandah. “Come on.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to find Mr. Kelly. And then I’m going to find Kendra, if I have to scour the entire city.”

  * * *

  Kendra’s bruised knee felt like it had swelled to the size of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon and the side of her face was on fire. Tightening her jaw, she blocked out the pain as she stumbled through the cemetery gates. The moon was playing hopscotch with the clouds in the evening sky. Thin ribbons of mist were beginning to crawl across the uneven ground, slithering around the ancient headstones and markers. Despite the sense of urgency driving her, Kendra took a moment to scan the graveyard. Many of the tombstones were cockeyed where the earth had shifted and settled. Angel statues stood watch over lichen-draped crypts. A shadowy mausoleum that looked like a miniature White House was at the far end of the cemetery. Gnarled trees and flowering shrubs dotted the landscape. In the sunshine, the cemetery was probably beautiful. Maybe even peaceful. At nearly midnight, with the moon and mist, it was as creepy as hell.

  But beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Where’s my bleeding pistol?” she heard Jowls demand, his voice clearer in the crisp night air. She tossed a swift glance over her shoulder and saw that he was sprawled on top of the crippled carriage, peering through the door. Weasel Face’s voice was muffled as he answered. He was still inside, probably searching for the lost weapon.

  Kendra started for the cluster of trees. She’d already devised a plan in her head. She needed to get to the opposite end of the cemetery. She’d have to climb over the high wrought iron fence that surrounded the property, but she didn’t think that would be a problem—

  “Holy crap!” She gasped, startled, and skidded to a stop. Her heart pounded in her chest as her gaze fixed on a small figure crouched next to one of the crypts. It was a boy of about six or seven, with tumbling dark locks that framed an intelligent, attractive face.

  “Are you real?” she asked.

  “Are you?” he shot back.

  She blinked. The boy was flesh and bone, she decided. No ghost would be so insolent. What the hell was a young child doing out in the middle of the night in a cemetery? He wasn’t one of London’s street urchins either. She could tell that his clothing was well-made. He was very thin, but he didn’t have the half-starved look of the city’s poor.

  On the street, Jowls give a pained grunt as he leapt to the ground. It jolted her back to reality.

  “Come on, kid,” she whispered, extending her hand. The boy had nothing to do with the two men chasing her, but she doubted that they’d leave any witnesses if they came across him. “We’ve got to move.”

  He jerked away from her. “Why should I go anywhere with you?”

  She stared at him. “Because right now I’ve got two men who want me dead, and you will be collateral damage if I don’t get you to safety.”

  As if on cue, Jowls shouted, “Gonna kill ye, ye bitch!”

  The kid glanced sharply toward the entrance of the cemetery.

  “Come on,” Kendra said again, and this time when she reached for the kid, he put his small hand in hers.

  Keeping low, they crept among the larger tombstones. Kendra prayed that the clouds would swallow up the moon to give them cover of darkness.

  “Why are the ruffians chasing you?” whispered the boy. “Are they graverobbers?”

  “Shush.”

  On some level, it registered—and surprised her—that the kid sounded American. She tightened her hand on his and dragged him over to a tombstone that had a sculptured stone angel smiling down at the mound of earth. She rubbed her swollen knee absently as she peeked around the wings of the statue. Her would-be kidnappers were standing at the gated entrance. Jowls had retrieved his gun and Weasel Face now was brandishing a knife.

  Shit.

  “Ye stay ‘ere,” Jowls ordered. “I’ll flush ’er out.”

  Kendra pulled back, sucking in a deep breath as she reconsidered her strategy. With the men breaking ranks, she could go on the offensive. Try to take out Jowls and then go back for Weasel Face. First things first, though—the kid was a liability. She needed to find a hiding spot for him so he would be safe no matter what happened to her.

  Sweat—or was it blood?—trickled down her cheek. Irritated, she wiped it away as her gaze searched the area.

  “What are we waiting for?” the kid quizzed her with a trace of impatience.

  She shushed him again, but her gaze had already locked on the classical granite mausoleum. She estimated that it was about twenty feet high, with two columns on either side of the double doors.

  The moon disappeared behind a cloud, plunging the world into darkness. Jowls stumbled on a marker somewhere behind them, letting out an oath. Kendra tugged on the kid’s hand and they took off across the graveyard. The statues and markers were now little more than inky shadows veiled by the night. For whatever reason, Jowls wasn’t attempting to be stealthy. He continued to curse, his footsteps thudding against the ground as he swept the graveyard. He probably thought the fence had trapped her inside the cemetery and so he didn’t need to be quiet.

  Kendra and the kid skirted a rosebush and skidded to a halt in front of a yawning abyss. Not quite an abyss. Only six feet deep. A freshly dug grave, so fresh that a worker had left behind his shovel, the handle sticking out of the mounds of dirt.

  “This is auspicious,” the kid whispered.

  Kendra glanced at the boy in surprise. She reached over and yanked the shovel out of the soil. Loose dirt and pebbles cascaded over the lip of the hole. Wincing a little at the noise, she clutched the shovel with one hand, grabbed the boy with the other, and scrambled up the slo
ping hill. She nearly tripped twice, her feet tangling with the long skirt of her evening dress. They closed the distance to the mausoleum.

  “W’ot’s happening?” Weasel Face shouted, his voice sounding broken and scratchy from her earlier attack. “Have ye found the bitch?”

  “Does it look like I’ve found her?”

  “I don’t know! I can’t see a bloody thing!”

  “Shut it, will ye!”

  Kendra dropped the child’s hand when they made it to the door of the mausoleum. She reached out to grasp the doorknob.

  “Damn,” she muttered when the door didn’t budge.

  “It’s locked. Probably to prevent graverobbers,” said the kid.

  “Thanks, Sherlock,” she muttered. She plucked two pins from her tumbling hair and knelt down, inserting them into the lock.

  “My name’s Edgar. What are you doing?”

  “Kid…” She huffed out a sigh of exasperation and went to work. When the tumblers clicked into place, she pushed open the door a crack. “Okay. Get in.”

  He stared at her.

  “You won’t be locked in,” she assured him. “It’s big.” It probably held at least eight crypts, but she didn’t think reminding the child that he’d be sharing the space with a number of corpses would be smart. “You can hide in here, okay?”

  He gave her a strangely adult look. “What will you be doing?”

  “Don’t worry about me, kid. But if I don’t come back, wait an hour before coming out. Then go home.”

  She heard Jowls moving around below. Closer now. Shit. She was running out of time. Rather than argue anymore, she shoved the kid through the door and shut it as quietly as possible. Then she picked up the shovel again, moving down the hill to the angel statue and open grave.

  Shivering, she settled down to wait.

  Jowls was methodical in searching the cemetery, going from side to side in a zigzag pattern, working his way down from the entrance where Weasel Face was standing guard. The strategy wasn’t a bad one, Kendra had to admit. But he made two mistakes. He assumed that she would be trapped within the grounds because she wouldn’t be able to scale the high wrought iron fence which enclosed the cemetery. It would be difficult, especially with her banged up knee, evening dress, and dancing slippers. But Kendra was confident that she would be able to get over the fence, if that’s what she wanted to do.

  And that was mistake number two. Jowls expected to find her cowering like a frightened animal. She had the element of surprise on her side, because he didn’t expect her to fight back.

  Kendra crouched next to the angel statue with the shovel gripped in both hands. She clenched her jaw tight to keep her teeth from chattering, listening to Jowls as he stumbled over stone grave markers, muttering curses. Every once in a while, Weasel Face would ask how the search was going, and Jowls would bark back a reply. Then Jowls would taunt her, promising to do the most hideous things to her when he finally found her.

  And that was mistake number three. She knew exactly where he was as he thrashed his way through the graveyard.

  She focused on her breathing as he came closer.

  Her nerves stretched taut. She tightened her grip on the handle of the shovel. Adrenaline kicked in like a wild animal inside her as she silently counted his steps.

  Closer.

  Kendra sprang to her feet. She barely felt the agony of her knee; her entire focus was on swinging the shovel around. Her arms reverberated with the impact of the spade against Jowls’s chest. He let out a yell and flew backward.

  Had he dropped the gun? She couldn’t see.

  “W’ot’s happening?” Weasel Face shouted in his hoarse voice.

  Kendra didn’t wait. She swung the shovel up in an arc and downward with vicious force, but Jowls was already rolling to the side. The shovel blade clipped him on the shoulder. He hissed out a breath and managed to lurch to his feet.

  Aware that she’d lost her advantage, Kendra recalibrated, shifting the shovel to swing it like a baseball bat. This time the blade caught him in the face. She heard a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone, saw his shadowy form spin over the mounds of loose dirt. Then he was gone, plunging into the open grave.

  Breathing heavily, her blood pounding in her ears, Kendra waited for Jowls to climb out of the grave. Instead, she heard in the distance a strange clattering sound. Her hands were clammy with sweat as she grasped the shovel’s handle, braced for another attack. Her eyes darted around. But Weasel Face wasn’t charging at her. Jowls was still in the open grave—ominously silent. Unconscious or dead?

  Then she identified the clattering: a watchman’s rattle. Two watchmen were at the cemetery entrance, holding lanterns.

  “Hey!” Kendra shouted. “Over here!”

  “Who goes there?” demanded one of the watchmen. Their lanterns bobbed in the dark as they jogged up the hill toward her.

  “Blimey!” A watchman gasped when the light from his lantern caught her. “Were you in the carriage that rolled over outside? What’s your name, miss?”

  “Kendra Donovan. I was kidnapped…” She frowned, lifting a hand when the other watchman moved the lantern closer, blinding her.

  “Kidnapped, were you?” The second watchman didn’t sound like he believed her. “And just who kidnapped you? Bonnie Prince Charlie?”

  “One kidnapper is there.” She pointed at the open grave. “The other seems to have escaped.”

  “Right here, you say?” He swung the lantern around to peer into the dark pit. “Sweet Jesus. Vince, look! She ain’t lying. There’s a man down there. I think he’s dead.”

  Vince crept up to the edge of the grave with his lantern. “Good God. What happened ter his face?”

  “He ran into my shovel.” Kendra stuck the shovel in the ground and propped herself on it, feeling suddenly weak. “Can someone send a note to Lady Merriweather’s ball? A few people might be looking for me.”

  The first watchman gaped at her. “Lady Merriweather?”

  “Yes. That’s where I was before… I was here.” She was starting to shiver. “Why are you here?”

  “We were sent out by the lady and gent down there,” Vince jerked a thumb toward the street. For the first time, Kendra noticed a carriage parked outside the cemetery gate. “Seems like their son was dared to come to the cemetery by a couple of mates. Then we saw the overturned carriage.”

  Edgar. Kendra let go of the shovel handle. Now that the danger had passed, her knee was throbbing again. She began to limp up the hill to the mausoleum.

  “Now where are you off to, miss?”

  She ignored him, throwing open the mausoleum door. The darkness was impenetrable. “Edgar?”

  The watchman followed, stretching out his hand with the lantern just as the boy came forward. Edgar blinked in the circle of light.

  “Master Allan,” the watchman tutted in an avuncular way. “You’ve caused plenty of mayhem tonight, haven’t you?”

  Kendra wondered if she should thank the boy. After all, if he hadn’t snuck off to the cemetery on a dare, his parents wouldn’t have called the watch and she’d still be dealing with a very pissed off Weasel Face.

  The boy looked up at her. “You got the villains?”

  “One. The other got away.”

  “Let’s go,” the watchman said, shooing them down the hill. The moon reappeared, making their journey easier.

  The second watchman was now staring down into the open grave. Kendra overheard the other man say, “Seems a waste of time ter haul him outta there, don’t you think?”

  They kept walking, skirting tombstones and grave markers.

  Edgar shot her a glance. “Did you know that this cemetery was named Saint Michael?”

  “I saw the name at the entrance.”

  “Michael wasn’t a saint, though. He was an archangel,” the boy said. “You are supposed to pray to him for protection from your most lethal enemies.”

  Kendra looked at the kid. “Did you pray to him?”

&
nbsp; He nodded slowly.

  “Then I guess it worked. Thank you.”

  He grinned at her.

  “Edgar!”

  A woman rushed forward from the cemetery entrance. Edgar broke into a run. She opened her arms to envelop her son in a hug.

  Kendra’s gaze traveled past them, surprised to see Alec, the Duke, and Sam coming through the gate. While the Duke and Sam paused, Alec kept striding forward. A moment later, she was enveloped in her own hug.

  “My God, I thought I’d lost you!” Alec whispered against her hair.

  She hugged him back. “How’d you know I was here?” she asked when she finally pulled away.

  “After Alec realized you had vanished, we located Mr. Kelly and organized a search,” the Duke said, coming up to them. His gaze fixed on Kendra, filled with concern. “My God… Are you all right?”

  Kendra nodded, shivering. “But how’d you find me here?”

  Alec took off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. He smiled, his white teeth a glimmer in the darkness. “Mr. Kelly heard that a carriage had overturned. We figured that you must have been involved.”

  “What happened, lass?” Sam asked her.

  “I stepped outside. Two men were waiting for me.” She frowned, aware of a whispery sensation running down her spine. “I’m pretty sure they were hired by someone. I decided it would be best not to wait to meet that person. So I… voiced my objections. The carriage overturned. The coachman was killed.”

  “And the two abductors?” asked the Duke.

  “One is up there, dead. The other one escaped.”

  Sam looked like he was going to say something but closed his mouth when Edgar’s parents stepped toward Kendra. The woman wiped tears from her eyes. “Thank you for protecting Edgar, Miss…?”

  “Donovan. Kendra Donovan.”

  The woman nodded. “Thank you, Miss Donovan. I don’t know what I would have done if we had lost Edgar to this misadventure. He was very naughty to have snuck out.” She shot him a look that was both reproving and loving, then glanced at Kendra. “Mr. Allan and I are grateful to you, keeping Edgar safe.”