The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past

by Sophie Barnes

  With this in mind, she got up and dressed, then rang the bell-pull and waited, unsure of what to expect next. Would a maid bring her breakfast or would someone escort her downstairs to the dining room?

  A knock at the door a few minutes later announced the arrival of Mrs. Fontaine. “Good morning,” she said after letting herself into the room with crisp efficiency.

  Jane tried to smile even though Mrs. Fontaine’s scowl distressed her. “Good morning.”

  The housekeeper gave her a once over before saying, “If you’ll please come with me then.” She gestured for Jane to follow. “There is breakfast for you downstairs after which you’re to meet with his lordship.”

  Drawing a breath, Jane followed the housekeeper through the hallway and down the long flight of stairs while wondering what else she might tell the earl. She did not have the information he sought and had no desire to share any further details about herself for fear of revealing too much. Wasn’t that time travel lesson number one? Not to interfere with the past? As it was, her presence alone might cause a serious ripple in the timeline if the movies she’d seen on the subject were anything to go by.

  This meant that maintaining her cover as a woman who’d fled a displeasing match was of the essence. And thankfully, Camden had already offered her the chance to stay. Because not only did she have no idea where else to go if he didn’t, she was also reluctant to leave the manor in case the portal materialized once again. Staying here was probably her only hope of ever returning home. A prospect she tried to ignore, considering how unlikely it would be for her to travel through time not once but twice in one lifetime. And end up where she belonged.

  But since hope was all she had and getting hysterical over her dismal odds would not help at all, she tried to keep a level head. Especially since doing so would make it easier for her to avoid getting charged with a crime she had not committed.

  Passing the parlor on the way to the dining room, Jane caught a glimpse of Tatiana. She was laid out on a long table that must have been brought in for this purpose alone, for it looked out of place in the intimate seating space. A footman stood guard near the door to the room, eyes hardening with undeniable contempt as they locked with Jane’s. Reminded of her position here, she averted her gaze and hurried after Mrs. Fontaine, eager to have breakfast over with so she could speak with Camden again. Perhaps by then she would think of a way to defend herself against the accusation she faced.

  Unfortunately, such a scenario was highly unlikely considering the facts. It was the typical plot she’d seen in a hundred movies where some poor fool was found standing over a corpse, oftentimes with the murder weapon in their hand. At least the knife the killer had wielded had not been found anywhere near her. But even so, from Camden’s and everyone else’s perspective, she was the stranger who’d been found in a spot where she shouldn’t have been. Convincing them of her innocence would not be simple, especially when DNA and fingerprinting were out of the question. All there was, was circumstantial evidence, and right now, everything pointed to her.

  Pushing the unpleasant thought aside, Jane entered the dining room and took a seat at the table. Unlike the tasty meals she described in her books, porridge was the only food awaiting her this morning. She took a few bites, chasing them with a sip of hot tea.

  “Good morning, Miss Edwards.”

  Jane turned to find the earl casually striding toward her. He looked incredibly handsome this morning, dressed in a charcoal grey jacket and black trousers. His hair was neatly combed, making him look more tamed than the previous evening. Although more elegant, Jane decided she rather preferred the messier appearance.

  “Good morning, my lord.” She set her spoon aside. The porridge wasn’t terrible, but neither did it stir her appetite.

  As if reading her mind, Camden said, “I thought it best to offer you only a simple meal. Just in case you are guilty, in which case you do not even deserve as much as that.”

  His suspicion of her could not be plainer. Jane grimaced. “You needn’t explain. I understand your reasoning completely.” Especially since she’d claimed to be seeking employment as a maid. It was unlikely such a position would warrant better fare than what she’d received.

  “Indeed.” Camden studied her with no small degree of thoughtfulness. “In that case, if you are done, I would like you to join me in my study.”

  Jane followed him from the room in complete silence. She still wasn’t sure how to prove her innocence. Hopefully inspiration would strike sooner rather than later. “May I sit?” she asked upon entering the study. She would feel better not having to stand.

  “By all means.” Camden gestured toward the vacant chair that stood across from his desk. Another chair was already occupied by the second man who’d arrived on the terrace last night. “This is my secretary and valet, Mr. Snypes.”

  Mr. Snypes gave Jane a look of distinct disapproval. “I cannot say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Jane chose to answer him as bluntly as he had addressed her. “As far as I know, I have not yet been found guilty.”

  “I believe that is only a matter of time,” Mr. Snypes said, “all things considered.”

  “Enough!” Camden lowered himself to the last remaining chair. “Arguing won’t yield any results. What we need are facts.”

  Mr. Snypes nodded. “Which leaves us with Miss Edwards standing over your sister’s body last night.”

  Forcing herself to stay calm, Jane thought back on all the murder mystery novels and TV shows she’d enjoyed over the years. Perhaps it would help if she could prove she lacked motivation? It was worth a shot.

  “I didn’t know Lady Tatiana, so what reason would I possibly have to kill her?”

  “It is possible that you came here intending to rob the place and she intercepted you. Killing her could have been an act of self-preservation on your part,” Mr. Snypes pointed out.

  “If that was the case I would not have been dressed as I was. Nor would I have remained on the terrace for you to find me.”

  “Perhaps you were too shocked by what you did to think about fleeing.” This comment was made by Camden, reminding Jane that he did not trust her and that he had no intention of dismissing her as a suspect any time soon. No matter how well he’d treated her thus far or the fact that he’d seemed to find her attractive the previous evening.

  He probably felt guilty about that today and was trying to keep his guard up around her.

  She clutched her hands in her lap and looked from one man to the other. “May I ask if the murder weapon has been found?”

  “It has not,” Camden said.

  “And you don’t think it would have been if I was the one to wield it?” she asked. “Would it not have been on my person or somewhere nearby?”

  Both men shared a glance before Camden finally nodded. “A definite point in your favor, Miss. Edwards.”

  A knock at the door brought Hendricks into the room. “I hope you will pardon my intrusion, my lord, but Harrington and Rockwell would like to speak with you. May I show them in?”

  James gave his consent. It had already been a busy morning with the upholsterer arriving before he’d even finished his breakfast. He sighed as he thought back on all the requests he’d made, like for Belgian Blacks to pull the hearse and for them to be fitted with ostrich plume headbands. He’d asked for the coffin to be dressed in purple silk velvet rather than black and for the engraving on the silver breast plate to include a bouquet of violets, Tatiana’s favorite flowers.

  It had been a depressing conversation, but at least the necessary arrangements were now taken care of so he could focus more fully on solving the crime. Which might be harder than he’d anticipated without the help of the magistrate. Apparently the man had gone away on business and wasn’t expected back for another two weeks. His clerk had sent a brief missive, apologizing for the inconvenience.

  Uselessness, more like, James had decided while muttering an oath and resolving to catch
the villain himself.

  At least he had his servants. Snypes would handle the preparations required for the visitation of mourners along with any immediate business dealings. The man had been in James’s employ for over five years and was perfectly capable. James trusted him completely, which was part of the reason why he’d asked him to sit in on this meeting with Miss Edwards. He’d wanted a second opinion – some solid feedback. But perhaps that had been a mistake considering Snypes’s hostile response to Miss Edwards. His remarks had not been conveyed with the open-minded objectiveness James had hoped for. Rather, it was clear that Snypes had already judged Miss Edwards and found her guilty. Which was not very helpful at all.

  “Camden,” Rockwell said upon entering the room with Harrington by his side. Both men’s faces were set in tight lines. “Is it true? Has your sister really…” He stared at James in disbelief, allowing the rest of the words to remain unsaid.

  “It is.” James turned toward Miss Edwards. “May I present my good friends, the Earl of Rockwell and Viscount Harrington. They have been visiting me for the past week.”

  “A pleasure,” Miss Edwards murmured. She’d risen, allowing both gentlemen to assess her, which they proceeded to do with unashamed interest.

  Bothered by it for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend, James went to pour himself a brandy. Behind him, he heard Rockwell murmur, “Indeed, the pleasure is entirely ours.”

  To which Snypes immediately added, “Perhaps you will reconsider that sentiment upon hearing that Miss Edwards may be the villain responsible for her ladyship’s untimely demise.”

  “That will be all, Mr. Snypes,” James clipped. He cast a disapproving glance at the servant while making a mental note to remind him of his boundaries. James might enjoy his advice, but it was important for Snypes to know when to keep his mouth shut.

  A momentary hush followed and then, “As you wish, my lord.” Snypes departed, closing the door behind him.

  James turned more fully toward his guests. “Miss Edwards’s role in all of this has yet to be determined.” He invited Rockwell and Harrington to sit, which they did while he himself remained standing. “I made her acquaintance last night when I arrived on the terrace to find her standing over Tatiana’s body.”

  “Good God!” Rockwell stared at Miss Edwards as though she might threaten to kill him next.

  “However,” James added, noting Harrington’s narrowed eyes, “the murder weapon has yet to be recovered. It was not in Miss Edwards’s possession at the time of her apprehension, nor has it been discovered in the garden.”

  “In other words,” Harrington drawled, “she did not dispose of it right before you found her.”

  James took a sip of his drink, savoring the soothing heat as it slid down his throat. “It doesn’t appear so. No.”

  “Which would mean she did not do it,” Rockwell said.

  “It is becoming increasingly unlikely,” James agreed. He eyed Jane who was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “I still have a great number of questions, however. Ensuring you have no hand in this matter will take time – time you will spend here at Summervale under my watchful eye.”

  He pinned her with a stare, determined to make her understand the severity of the situation in which she found herself and that he would have no qualms about seeing her punished if she were found guilty. But rather than show defiance or fear, she blushed and allowed her gaze to fall away from his.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She murmured the words with a touch of sensuality that quickened his blood. Confounded and discomforted by it, he returned his attention to the side table and busied himself with pouring drinks for his friends. Anything to alleviate the wild imaginings he’d started having about a woman he probably ought to despise. Fantasizing about her would be extremely inappropriate.

  “Brandy?” He offered a glass to Rockwell and then to Harrington, but both declined.

  “We’ve not yet broken our fast,” Rockwell explained while James set down the glasses.

  “When we discovered what had transpired, we thought to seek you out first,” Harrington said, “but the truth of it is, I am famished.”

  “Me too,” Rockwell said. “So if you do not mind, we will take ourselves off and fill our aching bellies.” His brow creased in contemplation, his eyes darkening with sympathy. “Perhaps we can go for a ride later? You look as though you could use a distraction.”

  James shook his head. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but you will have to go without me. With all that has happened, there is too much for me to attend to. People are expected to arrive later today to pay their respects. I have to be here.”

  “Of course,” Rockwell said. He and Harrington stood. “No need to worry about us. We will keep ourselves entertained.” They left the room at a solemn pace.

  “Fine friends,” Miss Edwards said, drawing his attention back to her. “Have you known them long?”

  “We attended Eton and Cambridge together.” He wasn’t sure why he was letting her draw him into personal conversation, but she was here, innocent until proven guilty. So he took the seat Harrington had vacated and set his half empty glass of brandy on the table.

  “You did not offer me one.” She nodded toward the glass.

  He laughed, surprised by her candor. “English women don’t usually imbibe at ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “Did I forget to mention that I am American?”

  He shook his head. “No. Indeed you did not.”

  “Then perhaps you will allow me to enjoy a glass with you? The last twenty-four hours have not been easy. I believe a drink might help.”

  Lord, the woman was assertive! He’d never encountered anyone from the working class who would have dared speak to him so boldly. Once again it made him wonder if Miss Edwards was more than she claimed to be. Because surely, even an American would know class difference ought to prevent her from addressing an earl so directly. She intrigued him though, which was why he chose to set the glass he’d intended for Rockwell within her reach.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip without even wincing. “Excellent vintage.”

  “You are familiar with brandies?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “My father was a collector and connoisseur. He taught me to appreciate the best varieties.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “The daughter of a man wealthy enough to indulge himself in such an interest has fled America and now seeks work as a maid?”

  “As I said, my funds were stolen, so what else should I do? I will not beg or prostitute myself.”

  “I should bloody well hope not!” He was on his feet again, striding toward the window, unable to understand why the thought of her lowering herself to such a degree would bother him when he scarcely knew her. What she did to earn a living was none of his goddamn business. And yet, her statement had shot through him, compelling him to forget himself and making him curse in front of a woman for the second time in his life. It was unforgiveable, the behavior he subjected her to.

  Shoving one hand into his trouser pocket, he drank deep from his glass while staring blindly out of the window at the driveway leading into the distance. “My apologies. My language just now was inexcusable.”

  “Please don’t worry. It doesn’t offend me in the slightest.”

  The honesty with which she spoke conveyed a lack of pretense he’d rarely witnessed in any woman. It was thoroughly engaging. “Are all Americans so indifferent?”

  “I’m really not sure.” She sounded pensive now, as if the question puzzled her. “Perhaps there are those who would protest to a man expressing himself so overtly in front of a woman, but I rather appreciate the honesty.”

  “Honesty?” He turned to meet her gaze.

  “You must confess, allowing an expletive to slip, unhindered by the presence of others, is the very epitome of candid communication.” She knit her brow. “It is now quite clear to me that you abhor the idea of me having to beg or prostitute myself and that, in the event I am
found guilty, you would rather see me dangling from the end of a rope because…” Her sentence trailed off as if she hadn’t quite managed to figure that part out just yet.

  He decided to help. “Because that would be just.” He returned to his seat and leaned forward with his elbows resting firmly on his thighs. “If you are indeed capable of doing the unspeakable, of taking a blade and slicing it neatly across an innocent woman’s throat, then you deserve far worse than the hangman’s noose. But begging and whoring?” He winced, imagining her in such a scenario. “Whoever you are, you are better than that.”

  “Hence my reason for seeking an honest job.”

  Her determination was evident. She wanted to stay, which was yet another point in her favor. If she’d really killed Tatiana, would she not do her best to convince him she must return to her parents or something? Would she not simply attempt to flee?

  But she hadn’t. Not yet at least.

  “Have you ever worked as a maid before?” He doubted it, but felt compelled to ask.

  “Not exactly, but that doesn’t mean I’m unfit. I’m a quick learner and I need the money.” She sounded sincere. And desperate.

  Something about her story still bothered him though. “You said you arrived at Plymouth?” When she nodded to confirm this was true, he said, “That is quite a distance away, at least a week’s travel by coach.”

  “I hitched a ride.” She held his gaze without flinching.

  “You hitched a ride?” He knit his brow, surprised by her colloquialism and her explanation, which was bizarre at best. “With whom?”

  “I do not know. The drivers, for there were a few, were not aware of my presence since I stowed away at the back of the carriages.”

  “In the rear boots?” He could not help but sound appalled.

  “Yes. Exactly. It wasn’t too terrible.”

  He paid attention to her tone. The manner in which she spoke was different from when she’d told him she hadn’t killed Tatiana. If she had really gone through such an ordeal to get here, then surely her voice would convey it. And yet she sounded as though she were telling him of a story she’d once read. It lacked conviction.