Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3)

by Morgan O'Neill

  Edgar fell back into the alley just as she came outside. To his shock, she wore a dress cut so low it exposed her breasts. She glanced around and then signaled to someone within. A massive man, obviously her bully boy, dragged a thin fellow outside and booted him away.

  “Thou shalt not taste a lick o’ quim without the coin t’ pay!” the woman yelled as the thin man shook his fist and shouted curses.

  God Almighty, it’s a house of ill repute! Edgar recalled being warned by his fellow Smithfielders about this area, known by several names, including The Pool of London and the Stews. It was a foul and dangerous place, filled with brigands, murderers, and prostitutes. What had he gotten himself into?

  Armed with only his wooden staff, Edgar gripped the length of stout wood and pondered his next move. He needed to discover more about the purpose and identity of the man he’d pursued, but how?

  Frowning, he got down on his haunches and decided to wait. Time passed and nothing happened on the street. By now, the damp chill of the night air penetrated through his cloak, and his back and knees ached.

  You can’t stay like this, he told himself. He started to rise when a thought jolted him fully upright. Should he take a risk, knock on the whorehouse door, and then…?

  Then…what? What will you do next? he wondered. Ask straight out to speak to the stranger?

  Clop, clop. The dank night air magnified the sounds. Clop, clop, clop.

  A group of horsemen, perhaps a dozen strong, rode up to The Fighting Cock, and Edgar thanked the Good Lord he hadn’t acted on impulse and started for the door.

  From his hiding spot, he watched the horsemen rein in. He couldn’t see their faces, but he knew the man in the lead was high-born because of his feathered hat and jeweled accoutrements.

  The door immediately opened and the man Edgar had followed came back outside.

  “Greetin’s, me lord,” he said with a bow. “See t’ the duke’s horse,” he told the guards.

  Shock and fear jolted Edgar’s body. Duke? My God, it’s him—Anne’s murderer! Edgar had no doubt as to the identity of the nobleman, for only one man bore that title in 1562 England—Norfolk!

  The duke got off his horse and flipped the reins to a bodyguard.

  “Beggin’ thy pardon, but I couldn’t nab the witch-woman quick-like as thou asked,” the man babbled.

  “Shut thy mouth, fool! We’ll speak of it inside,” Norfolk snapped. He motioned toward the door. “Take me to Nell at once.”

  The man held the door open for Norfolk and then followed him in. The door shut with a boom.

  By now, the guards and horses had gone off to the stables, and Edgar stood alone in the alley.

  The witch-woman had to be Anne. There was no other reason for the man to have been spying at the hospital gates. Edgar felt a stab of fear to his gut, knowing the duke’s wicked plan was already afoot. But then he realized with grim certainty the knowledge he’d gained by listening to his instincts was exactly what he needed, and this knowledge forced his hand. He had to act—and fast.

  He crossed himself. God give me strength! I cannot delay any longer. Anne and Dr. Brandon must be told.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jonathan Brandon sat in one of the fireplace chairs before the great hearth in the hospital’s main room, his feet propped up and warming before the blaze. Anne drank mint tea by his side, her sigh of contentment belying the antsy tap of her toe. Their baby was safely tucked in and asleep for the night, and the rest of their household gone off to bed. Only Bob, acting as night watchman, remained afoot, but he was outside, making sure the grounds and buildings were safe and quiet.

  “Darling, I love you,” he said, reaching for her hand.

  “I love you, too,” she answered, her voice low and throaty. She finished her cuppa, then, with a mischievous grin, moved over and sat in his lap.

  He kissed the end of her nose. “The very devil you are.”

  She responded with a smile, a deep kiss, and a sexy moan.

  He groaned back, his passion in sync with hers.

  She drew back and smiled. “It’s soooo good to be home.”

  He laughed and kissed her again, but their embrace was cut short by the sound of boots pounding in the hallway, followed by sharp raps on the door.

  Anne quickly got off his lap, and he got to his feet.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  “Bob, sir. ’Tis urgent I speak wi’ thee.”

  Jonathan exchanged a look of concern with Anne. “Yes, Bob. Come in,” he said.

  He entered, hat in hand. “Pardon me, Dr. Brandon, Lady Anne, but this feller named Edgar, I know him from the parish, and he’s here.”

  “Edgar Mullins?” Anne asked.

  “Aye, a goodly man, he is. Came t’ the gate tonight askin’ fer a meetin’ wi’ ye both straightaway. Said ’twas most urgent. Jes t’ be safe, I checked him fer weapons and took his walking stick. He also said he was a friend to an acquaintance of ye both, one Brother Daniel.”

  “The monk?” Anne exclaimed.

  Brandon shared her surprise. He recalled how in 1560 Anne witnessed the very moment Brother Daniel time traveled to the twentieth century. How was Edgar involved with Daniel?

  “Bring him here immediately,” he ordered Bob.

  Within a moment, Edgar entered the room alone, and Brandon indeed recognized him from the parish, although he’d never spoken to him personally.

  The man bowed from the waist. “Please forgive my intrusion at such a late hour. Father Edgar is my name.”

  “You’re a priest?” Anne asked in surprise.

  “Yes, I’m a Jesuit. I must speak to you both about a matter of utmost importance.”

  * * *

  Father Edgar looked pale and tired, so Anne decided she must take care of that problem first, before he spoke any more.

  “Would you like some wine?” she asked as she and Jonathan ushered him into the dining room and settled him at the table.

  “Brilliant, yes. And thank you so very much for agreeing to see me,” he said.

  He didn’t speak like an Elizabethan. She exchanged a glance with Jonathan, whose frown indicated he’d picked up on that, too.

  She turned back to Father Edgar. “May I get you something to eat?”

  “Thank you, no. The wine should suffice.”

  “Please explain your speech,” Jonathan asked as Anne went to the sideboard to pour the wine.

  “Ah, yes,” Edgar said, nodding. “I do try to put on a good show for the people ’round here—Shakespearean speech and the like—but, you see, my birth name was Edgar Mullins, and when I was very young, I time traveled from the sixteenth century to the latter part of the twentieth century, where I spent the greater part of my formative years.”

  Oh, my God! Anne sloshed the wine, but managed to get hold of herself and set the glass before Edgar without any more spilling. Her hands trembled, so after she took a seat at the table she clasped them in her lap.

  Edgar took a sip of the wine. “Thank you, your ladyship. This should set me up nicely.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled by blowing with a little puff through his mouth, as if preparing himself for a difficult task. “My story is a long and complicated one, and I hope you don’t mind bearing with me as I try to explain.” When Anne nodded, he went on, “My stay in the future lasted decades, until 2014, when I traveled back to the year 1545. I’ve been living in the vicinity of Smithfield ever since.”

  “You say you’re a time traveler, but why should we believe you?” Jonathan asked flatly. “We have enemies here who would concoct any sort of story to catch us up, make us say things we didn’t intend. Who’s to say they haven’t sent you here for information or some other nefarious purpose? Have you any proof of your assertions?”

  This line of questioning made Anne feel uncomfortable, but she knew her husband hadn’t overstepped. What if Edgar worked for Norfolk? She shivered in fear and revulsion, reminded of the duke’s evil nature and unyielding quest fo
r information about the future—which he knew she and Jon could provide.

  “I understand your concerns, Dr. Brandon.” Edgar reached into his pocket and then brought forth a battered rectangular yellow box. “I have this.”

  Anne leaned in to read.

  Extra Long Safety Matches...Ideal for Barbecues, Open Fires and Candles, 45 Approx Content.

  The brand was Clipper, from the UK. Twenty-first century stuff!

  Jonathan whistled. “That certainly seems to answer my question.”

  “Yes, well, I brought it with me from 2014 and kept the box and a few matches all these years. I must admit I held onto the silly thing out of sentimental attachment, I suppose, although given the potential risk if it were discovered, keeping the memento was dangerous in the extreme. However, it occurs to me now that my sentiment did serve a purpose, did it not?”

  Anne and Jonathan nodded in unison.

  “In addition to the matches,” Edgar went on, “I left a staff with your night watchman. I believe you’ll recognize it as the very one that belonged to Bishop Wright. Daniel used it when he time traveled and that is how I came to have it.”

  “The staff?” Anne asked with growing excitement. “Father Edgar, can you please tell us what happened to Daniel? You say he time traveled. The staff’s magic must’ve worked then? Where did he go? What year?”

  “If you don’t mind, I should very much like to start at the beginning before I answer all of that. First, your ladyship... Anne... May I call you that? I do feel as if I’ve known you for years because of all that has happened.”

  She sensed he was lonely and felt touched by his need for friendship. “Yes, please call me Anne.”

  “Thank you.” He sipped more wine, then smiled. “Firstly, I should very much like to tell you about your family.”

  She gasped in surprise and tears pricked at her eyes. “Oh, you know them? How are they?”

  “I do not know them personally, but Daniel knew your grandmother, Catherine Howard. Let me reassure you that when I left 2014 your entire family was in good health. Your grandmother should be aware by now I’m back here, because I sent a message to the future—much the same as you.”

  “You used the Hastings’ Bible?” Anne asked.

  “No. I left a message in another book that we time travelers use on occasion.”

  “There are others?” Jonathan asked. “How many?”

  “Several dozen, actually,” Edgar explained. “But I will explain about my brethren later on.” He turned back to Anne. “Let me reassure you that your grandmother received all of your messages via the doctor’s original letter. She knows what happened to you both, and I heard she’s thrilled about your marriage and the birth of her great-granddaughter.”

  Anne clasped a hand to her mouth and joyful tears spilled down her cheeks. “You’ve made me very happy,” she whispered, exultant and overwhelmed all at once.

  She felt a burden lift from her shoulders. She’d never actually worried much about whether Catherine accepted her marriage to Jon, having seen how deeply her grandparents loved one another, but to hear it straight from Edgar’s mouth gave her a sense of gratification.

  Edgar smiled and nodded. “My spirit is buoyed now that I’ve told you both about Catherine. I feel as if I’ve been the guardian of this information for far too long. Thank God I lived long enough to share it with you.”

  Poor Father Edgar! Anne’s heart went out to him. What had he been through these many years? And why had he waited so long to contact them?

  Tears welled again, the thought of her grandmother’s response giving her peace. She swiped at her eyes and then settled down to listen to the rest of Edgar’s story.

  Just then, the priest shifted under her happy scrutiny and cleared his throat.

  “Would you like some more wine?” Anne asked.

  “Thank you, no.” Edgar took a deep breath. “I fear what I have to tell you next will be difficult to hear—in the extreme. Please keep in mind it hasn’t yet occurred. And that’s why I’m here, the very reason I came.” He looked straight into Anne’s eyes. “I’ve come to save your life.”

  Wait—what? Save me? She couldn’t wrap her mind around what she’d just heard, but her heart understood, because it beat fast and hard in her chest.

  Jonathan’s eyes widened. “What did you say?” he asked Edgar.

  “I am here to save your wife. You wrote a note to Catherine. It was the last one she received. You told her Anne was kidnapped in 1562, on the fifth of September. Norfolk murdered her.”

  “Bloody hell!” Jonathan cursed and leapt up.

  The breath stuck in Anne’s throat, but she swallowed past it and whispered, “I—murdered?”

  “No!” Edgar said adamantly. “That’s why I’m here. With God’s help, I shall get you, the doctor, and Catherine Rose out long before the danger presents itself.”

  Rose? Oh, Rose! Anne suddenly realized her daughter would be left motherless if…when Norfolk…when he…

  Oh God, no! her mind screamed. Oh no, Rose, oh Rose, I can’t die. I love you! I can’t leave you!

  “Anne!” Jonathan’s voice broke through her terror. He wrapped her in his arms and held on tight. “Anne, darling, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you.”

  “What if you can’t?” she cried.

  “You must believe your husband,” Edgar said. “We have the advantage in this. With God’s help, we will change the future.”

  It didn’t matter what anyone said or how many reassurances she heard—her sole focus was Catherine Rose. Sick with fear, she recalled everything that had happened to her family because of Norfolk. How much more could they endure?

  No, no, no! I can’t die! Weeping, she was vaguely aware that Father Edgar left after he and Jon made plans to meet in the morning. She was inconsolable as her husband took her to their bedroom in the Lady Chapel.

  “We need to get out of here!” Anne cried out. “Where’s Rose? We need to leave.”

  “Anne, darling,” Jonathan said, taking her hand. “Rose is safe in her bed. Please, darling, you must listen to me. We have time. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “What if you can’t?”

  “Please, my darling, I promise. We have the advantage in this. We can change the outcome. I’ll ask Father Edgar to stay here with us when he returns in the morning. I know he’ll have thought this out. We have time.”

  She tried to find comfort in his words, but couldn’t. Blinded by tears, she could only think of Rose, her baby girl, her precious, precious daughter.

  * * *

  The next morning, Father Edgar met Dr. Brandon for breakfast. The doctor apologized on Anne’s behalf, explaining she needed to sleep since she had a terrible night.

  As they ate, Edgar revealed everything he’d ascertained after he shadowed the suspicious man to The Fighting Cock, especially what he said to Norfolk. “The bloke said he couldn’t nab the witch-woman, as he put it,” he explained. “One doesn’t have to hazard a guess as to whom he meant.”

  Brandon nodded. “I suspect that bloody bastard is someone known to us. He and his friend kidnapped Anne when she first arrived. She escaped, thank God, and came here. He’s one of Norfolk’s henchmen.” His voice was raw with fury. “Rest assured I’ll make certain to immediately double the guard on the hospital grounds—and in the square. He won’t find it easy to lurk outside. I shall also ask for a meeting with my friend, Lord Henry Hastings, about this. He’s kept an eye on Norfolk since last year, but I’m certain he’ll redouble his efforts when he hears your news.”

  Breakfast over, they stood to leave.

  “We must discuss what happens next,” Edgar said. “Anne must weigh in on it, too, but let me reassure you, Dr. Brandon, I have the means of getting your entire family out of here and to the future.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Brandon glanced at the door. “I’ll want you close at hand as soon as Anne is up and able to hear you out. Would you agree to move
in with us until we can see this through?”

  “Yes, I do believe that would be for the best,” Edgar said.

  Before he left for home and some packing, he joined Dr. Brandon at a tombstone. He read.

  Here lieth buried Daniel Thorpe ~ Died September 1545

  “I’ve passed by this grave countless times,” the doctor said, “but I had no way of knowing who was actually interred here. It boggles the mind it’s the man we knew as Brother Daniel.”

  Edgar pointed to a grave nearby, that of Robert Wright. “And him. I met him briefly in 1545. He was with Daniel at the end.”

  The men walked over to the headstone, and Brandon said, “I’m glad that was so for Daniel’s sake. The bishop was a good man, the very best. After I time traveled, he saved my life by giving me shelter here at St. Bart’s. He was privy to my secret almost from the very start, at the time the only one whom I could trust.”

  Edgar pondered the memorial inscription.

  Bishop Robert Josiah Wright. 1494 – 1560. A comfort and light to lost men, ever the Willing Servant of God.

  “When I met the bishop, he told me Daniel let him know you were coming,” Edgar revealed.

  “What? He knew about me ahead of time?” Brandon rubbed his chin, gazing at the grave with new insight. “Well, I’ll be damned. I always wondered about the circumstances of his finding me. You see, I was wandering the streets and hiding as best I could, but I feared it was only a matter of time before the mob got hold of me. I stood out like a sore thumb. I was in uniform, RAF from 1945, so I attracted attention wherever I went. I feared I would be burned at the stake.”

  “Unfortunately, that has happened to some of our time travelers.” Edgar crossed himself. “Poor souls, may they rest in peace.”

  Brandon frowned. “Had the bishop not found me in the middle of the night, I’m certain it would have been my fate as well. When I told him my name he seemed startled, relieved, and thankful all at once. I noticed, but made no mention, simply chalking it up as the natural reaction of a man of the cloth. I did ask him why he was out alone at that time, and he maintained it was by pure happenstance that he came upon me, something about searching for a lost dog. Ridiculous given the risks of wandering around London in the dark, I know, but I assumed it was true, because it was just that—ridiculous. The bishop was kind to everyone he met, always willing to help those in need, even the creatures of the streets. As a result, I never considered the dog tale a ruse. When I finally told him about the time travel, he accepted the notion of it quite readily. Now I understand why.”