by Bess McBride
“This cannot be! Why did Miss Hickstrom allow her to leave early?”
“Like I said in my note, Hickstrom said she was done with Clara, that she was too much trouble and that she was sending her home at once.”
“She was most angry with me.”
“Hickstrom?”
“No. Well, perhaps she was as well. But it was Clara who was angry with me. She said something odd, that she felt I pitied her and had agreed to marry her as a sympathetic gesture. Some such nonsense. I did not understand her meaning.”
“I don’t understand either, but she wanted to go home. I know that.”
The knife in his chest was not eased by Mary’s comment. “She could never have lived here in this time, could she?”
He withdrew from Mary’s hands and took the drink St. John offered him.
“Maybe. If she wanted to.”
“What could I have done to make her want to remain?”
“We discussed that,” St. John said with a wry twist of his mouth.
“I know,” Roger said, his shoulders heavy. “I wanted to declare myself to Clara, to tell her how I felt, but I could not find the words. And then she became angry.”
“Inexplicable,” St. John said dryly.
“What am I to do? Mary, tell me. Do you think Miss Hickstrom would send me to the future if I asked? Is it possible?”
Mary gasped. “You, in the twenty-first century? Are you hoping to go after Clara?”
“Yes. I should not have let her go. Though in truth, I thought I had more time to compose my thoughts, my words.”
Mary shook her head. “I have no idea. Did you ask Hickstrom?”
“I have not attempted to summon her yet. I feel she may be quite done with me.”
“Not if she’s going to force you to marry Penelope.”
“Ah! That. Yes, that fate awaits me.”
“Please tell me that you want Clara back so you don’t have to marry Penelope.”
Roger gulped his whisky. “No, and I must ask that you please not speak both names in the same sentence. My affections...no, my love for Clara is true.”
“It is too bad you could not say so sooner,” St. John said.
“St. John,” Mary chided. “He’s trying now.”
“What can I do? Do I need this book of fairy tales to make my way to the twenty-first century? Where may I find Clara? How might I reach her?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, Roger. That would be so hard for you to figure out.”
“I am not afraid to try.”
“I think you’d better ask Hickstrom.”
She looked up toward the ceiling. “Hickstrom! Hellooooo, Hickstrom! Can you come here, please?”
St. John shook his head, drank the last of his whisky and turned to pour himself another.
“Will we never see the end of that woman?”
Roger and Mary waited, but Hickstrom did not come.
At a knock on the door, Roger whirled around.
“At last!”
The door opened, and Lord Carswell entered. He carried his top hat in his hand. He saw Roger, and his jaw stiffened. He bowed toward St. John and Mary.
“I wished to take my leave and to thank you for your hospitality.”
Roger nodded with satisfaction. Excellent news! Good riddance!
“Oh, you’re leaving now?” Mary asked. “When you said you were leaving this morning, I didn’t think it would be so early. Won’t you stay for breakfast?”
“No, I am afraid I must leave,” he said stiffly.
“It was our pleasure to host you, Lord Carswell,” St. John replied, bowing toward him. “I hope that you visit us again on your way back to London.”
Lord Carswell sighed heavily.
“If you receive word from Miss Bell, please tell her that I regret we could not say goodbye. I do hope that she is well and happy.”
Roger stiffened and turned an accusing look upon St. John. They had informed Lord Carswell that Clara had returned to her time? What concern was it of his?
So overwrought was he that he dismissed St. John’s withering look in response. He cared not that his longtime friend and employer disliked his treatment of Lord Carswell. The man was an interloper and had caused a great deal of trouble! Especially with regard to Clara.
“We will, Lord Carswell. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m so sorry,” Mary said. She cast a look in Roger’s direction and said no more about regrets.
“Drive safely!” she said.
Lord Carswell said not one word to Roger as he bowed once again, donned his hat and left the room. St. John followed him, and Roger turned to Mary.
“One more time. She must come! I must speak with her!”
“Well, you call her, Roger! Maybe she’ll come if you call her.”
Roger could not fail to hear the exasperation in Mary’s voice. He cleared his throat.
“Miss Hickstrom! Miss Hickstrom! Please come to us!”
He lowered his eyes and looked at Mary. They waited silently. The door opened, and they turned. St. John entered the room. Behind him and clearly unknown to him, Miss Hickstrom entered. He jumped when he saw her.
“Ah! There you are, Miss Hickstrom!” Roger said. “Madam! I wish to travel to the twenty-first century. How may I do that?”
Miss Hickstrom moved to the middle of the room and regarded the parties.
“I am not a travel agent, Lord Rowe!”
“What?” Roger asked.
“No, we know you’re not a travel agent, Hickstrom, though you sure act like one sometimes. Listen to the man. He wants to go find Clara. That’s love, isn’t it?”
Miss Hickstrom turned an interested eye on Roger. He lifted his chin in an attempt to convey his competency to travel to the future.
“May I infer that you do not wish to marry Miss Penelope Whitehead?”
“I do not, madam. I wish to marry Miss Clara Bell.”
Miss Hickstrom clapped her hands, her face alight with happiness.
“Indeed? Oh, goodness! I did think I had made a terrible mistake with you two, and yet I have never been wrong! Oh, I am so pleased that I was proven correct!”
“Hickstrom, this really isn’t about you,” Mary said. “How can you help poor Roger?”
“Well, of course it is about me, dear, for did I not make a perfect match?”
“Not if they’re apart by thousands of miles and hundreds of years, but what do I know?” Mary retorted.
“Yes, well, let me think.” She crossed her arms and tapped her nose as she closed her eyes in contemplation. She opened them quite soon and shook her head.
“No, Lord Rowe. You may not travel to the twenty-first century. That would be most irregular. I have been. It is not for the faint of heart.”
“I am not afraid, Miss Hickstrom. There is only one thing I fear.”
“I can see your heart, Lord Rowe. You fear the loss of Miss Bell.”
Roger’s cheeks heated up, and he looked down at the carpet. His emotions were revealed to all, and the moment was humiliating. He had no defenses.
“Well, don’t embarrass the man, Hickstrom,” Mary said. “I agree with you though, and I told him so. I don’t think he can cope in the twenty-first century, nor do I think he could actually find Clara. Can you do anything?”
Roger looked up hopefully.
Miss Hickstrom drew in a breath and resumed tapping on her nose.
“Miss Hickstrom, have done with this charade,” St. John said impatiently. “You are fully aware of your capabilities, but we are not. Do not toy with Lord Rowe!”
“St. John!” Roger barked. “Please...”
St. John looked taken aback for a moment, but Roger held his ground. He was no longer subservient to his old friend, and he would not allow St. John to alienate Miss Hickstrom. He remembered a time when he himself could not stomach the woman for all that she had done to St. John, but Roger needed her now.
Miss Hickstrom watched the exchange between the men with equani
mity.
“I must go,” she said abruptly.
“Miss Hickstrom! Please! Do not leave. Help me!” Roger said, taking a step forward.
But Miss Hickstrom had already reached the door.
“I cannot promise anything, Lord Rowe, but I will see what I can do.” With that, she disappeared, yet the door did not open.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clara woke up after a fitful night of sleeping on the couch. Janie had stayed with her, unwilling to let her friend disappear again, though Clara had assured her that wasn’t how it worked.
She wandered into the kitchen, flipped on the light and admired the simple act of illumination. Several minutes later, she had used running water and electricity to make a cup of hot coffee. She sipped the coffee and studied the kitchen, enjoying its conveniences, committing it to memory.
“You’re up early,” a sleepy Janie said from the couch. “What are you staring at?”
“The kitchen,” Clara said. “Just the stuff in the kitchen.”
“Okay,” Janie replied in an exaggerated tone. “Make me a cup, will you?”
Clara turned to pour another cup of coffee from the pot.
“I’m going to try to go back, Janie,” Clara said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“What?” Janie froze in the act of taking the coffee. “Go back? Are you kidding?”
Clara shook her head. “No, I’m going back. Hopefully, I can convince Roger that we belong together. Janie! I thought you encouraged me to go back last night!”
“I did. I didn’t. Did I? No, I changed my mind! I don’t want you to go back. I’m sorry I said anything. What about our business? What about your life here? What about me? Clara, you can’t go back!”
Clara set her mug down and moved to hug Janie, who had started shaking. She took Janie’s cup and set it down.
“Janie,” she murmured against her friend’s hair. “I’m so sorry. But my future is in the past.”
Janie’s shoulders continued to shake, and Clara heard sobs. She leaned back and looked at Janie’s tear-streaked face.
“Please don’t leave, Clara. It’ll be like you died. I’ll never see you again, will I?”
Clara swallowed hard. Janie’s grief tore at her heart.
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even know how to get back. But I’m going to try. I’ll call Hickstrom, and if she doesn’t come, I’ll find that book again...wherever it went. This is the twenty-first century! I can at least find a copy of a book somewhere.”
Janie tilted her head and wiped her nose. “Oh, that’s right. The book. What if you don’t find it?”
“Janie,” Clara scolded. “Don’t wish for that. Be happy for me. Please?”
“I don’t know how to be happy for you. I want to, but I don’t know how.”
Clara released her friend and picked up her mug of coffee. She studied Janie’s sad face.
“You could come with me...maybe.”
Janie coughed and jerked her head upright. “Are you serious? What would I do there...wherever there is?”
“Well, what are you doing here? Your parents have passed. Mine too. We’re only children. You’re not dating anyone, and you’re always reading historical romance novels. Come with me! If I can find the book. Oh, I hope I can find the book...or Hickstrom.”
Janie started laughing, not a humorous laugh but something closer to hysteria. She bent double and clutched her sides, gasping for air.
“Janie!” Clara protested. “Stop. You’re getting hysterical.”
Janie lifted her head, her face bright red. “Well, wouldn’t you if your best friend had disappeared for a couple of days? And then invited you to go on a trip two hundred years into the past?”
“You’d be perfect for England, with your rosy cheeks and pale skin. England would be perfect for you, with its gentle skies.”
“Well, I am mostly English—at least my parents said we were.”
“See? Come with me.”
“Clara! What about the business? People work for us! They depend on us. How would I live? How would I make money? I don’t have a wealthy baron waiting for me.”
“Well, I don’t know that I have one either, but Mary will put us up for a while. St. John is loaded! The man lives in a castle.”
“Clara, I can’t,” Janie said with a shake of her head. “Not that I’m really sure you aren’t hallucinating.”
“If you hated it, if you really hated it, Hickstrom might send you back. That woman can do anything.”
“This is crazy talk! I’m not going anywhere with you except to the emergency room to have your head examined!”
Clara gulped the rest of her coffee.
“Look! I’ll see if I can call Hickstrom. She doesn’t always come when we summon her.”
Janie crossed her arms. “Mmmm-hmmm, you go right ahead.”
Clara heard the continuing skepticism in Janie’s voice. She accepted the challenge and only hoped that Hickstrom would accept it too.
“You know what? I can’t wait to prove she exists.”
Clara lifted her head and looked at the ceiling.
“Hickstrom! Hickstrom! Ummm...it’s Clara!” Clara bit her lower lip, remembering that she and the fairy godmother had not parted on the best of terms, that she had been largely ungrateful and a pain in the neck. What had Hickstrom said? You are too much trouble.
Hickstrom didn’t materialize, and Clara lowered her head to look at Janie.
“Well, ummm...as it happens, she was pretty upset with me when she sent me back. Said I was too much trouble. It’s possible she won’t come.” Clara swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’ll find that book!”
She lifted her head again. “Hickstrom! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Could I please marry Roger? If he’ll have me? And then you can be right! Because I know that’s important to you! Mission accomplished and all! Hickstrom!” Her voice took on a shrill note.
A knock on the door startled them.
“The police?” Clara breathed.
“Probably not. They didn’t take me too seriously after the homeowners refused to press trespassing charges.” Janie moved to the door and pulled it open.
“Good day, Janie,” said a tiny lady with blue hair and a bright-pink flower-print dress.
Janie jumped back at the vision that drifted in through the door.
“Hickstrom!” Clara said. She rushed toward the fairy godmother and pulled her into a hug. “You came! You came!”
Hickstrom patted Clara’s back before disentangling herself. “Do not I always?”
Clara wanted to note that she didn’t come every single time, but she thought that counterproductive...and a dumb thing to argue at that point.
“Yes!” she said. She grabbed Hickstrom’s hands. “Please send me back! I’m sorry. I think I love Roger. I know I will. I’ll marry him if he’ll have me. Please send me back.”
Hickstrom gave her head a slight shake, and Clara’s heart dropped to her stomach.
“My dear, can we not at least have a cup of tea and a biscuit? Where are your manners?”
“Lost somewhere,” Clara mumbled. She dropped Hickstrom’s hands and rushed to the kitchen. “How about coffee?” she called out.
“That will do.”
Clara saw Hickstrom settle herself on the couch. Janie remained frozen, staring at her.
“Well, then, Janie. I understand you enjoy romantic novels? Have you read the works of Miss Jane Austen?”
Janie nodded dumbly.
Clara grabbed some cookies, threw them on a plate and rushed back in to set the coffee and cookies down on the table in front of Hickstrom.
“Okay! Eat and drink!” Clara hovered, too keyed up to sit.
“Oh, my dear, my dear, you have so much to learn about etiquette. I have not said whether I can send you back.”
“I know you can,” Clara said. “You have unlimited powers.”
“Not unlimited,” Hickstrom said, biting into a chocolate chip cookie
. She savored the flavor. “But yes, I do have a great deal of power.”
“Okay, so are you going to send me back? Have you seen Roger?”
“I have.” Hickstrom sipped her coffee.
Clara exchanged a glance with Janie.
“Is he mad at me? The last time I saw him, I blasted him. I can’t even remember what I was talking about.”
“I cannot speak for Lord Rowe, dear.”
“So you don’t know if he’ll have me back?”
“I have done what I could, Clara.”
“I wasn’t asking you to make him love me, though I’m sure you have that power as well.” Clara’s face burned.
“As I said, my powers are limited.”
“Hickstrom!” Clara stomped a foot.
Janie’s head whipped around in surprise at her temper tantrum.
“Are you punishing me?”
Hickstrom picked up another cookie. “You did not honor your commitment, Clara. You promised to stay for a fortnight.”
Clara slumped down onto a chair.
“So you’re not going to let me go back?”
“Have you the book of fairy tales?”
“No,” Clara said despondently. “Janie said it disappeared.”
“But I’m sure we can find a copy of the book if it’s published, ma’am! Somewhere!” Janie threw Clara a look of support.
Hickstrom glanced at Janie. “Are you happily situated, Janie?”
“Happily situated? Do you mean married?” Janie repeated.
“Yes, indeed, are you wed?”
Clara had a sneaking suspicion of where Hickstrom was headed, and she wasn’t unhappy about it.
“No, not yet,” Janie replied.
“Would you like to come to the nineteenth century?”
“Me?” Janie swung her eyes toward Clara, who grinned.
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes! I’ve been begging Janie to consider going back with me...if I could...if I can. Say yes, Janie.”
Janie shook her emphatically. “No, no! Not me. Besides, there’s the matter of the book.” She turned to Hickstrom. “Honestly, if you’re a fairy godmother and have all these ‘not unlimited powers,’ why can’t you just send Clara back? Why do you have to use a book?”
“Some things simply must be accepted. Think of Hickstrom’s Book of Fairy Tales as a collection of yearnings, of the search for true love—for without love, we are but a vague shadow of all that we could be. I have heard it said—here in your time—that love makes the world go around. We mere mortals are privileged to have the capacity to love. Imagine a world where we bump into each other and procreate without romance, without familial connections, without love. A dull meaningless life indeed.”