The Highwayman Incident

by Kristy Tate

  “I do hope you are planning to attend,” Penelope said.

  “Of course, we are,” Celia said, thinking of all the gowns she would see.

  Jason stood and extended his hand to Celia. “My dear sister, may I speak to you privately?”

  “Whatever for?”

  Jason plucked the sketchbook from her and put it down on a table, and then took her elbow. “Join me for a walk outside.”

  Celia thought about arguing, but with the way Jason pulled her up and out of her chair, she realized he wasn’t in an arguing sort of mood.

  “Please excuse us,” Jason said over his shoulder as he led Celia to the wide French doors.

  “That was rude,” Celia said once they were outside. A slight breeze toyed with the trees, and autumn leaves danced across the lawn like pinwheels. Heavy clouds hung in the midday sky.

  “Hopefully, sometime soon, we’ll disappear and never see them again.”

  “We still need to be polite,” Celia said in a tight voice.

  “Celia.” Jason took a deep breath. “I’m tired of playing your villain. I’m not the bad guy.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Everything that came to mind sounded priggish and self-righteous, so she followed her mother’s old maxim, if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all. They walked in silence that grew more uncomfortable with every step. She could practically feel Jason’s anger rolling off of him. Finally, Celia said, “Tell me about your distant relative.”

  For a moment Jason didn’t respond as if he was considering whether or not he could trust her, but then he said, “When I went back to get the antibiotic, I had an idea. It just seemed too coincidental that I would be sent to Cornwall—the home of my ancestors.”

  “How do you know your ancestors are from Cornwall?”

  “Tell me what you know of your ancestors.”

  Celia thought about what she knew of her family tree. “Having grown up with my dad in California, I don’t know that much about my mom’s family at all. I know my dad’s parents—Grandpa and Grandma Lewis.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “They’re both fiery, redheaded Scotts with tempers that can fry bacon. Fortunately, they’re both so tiny, they can’t really hurt anyone. They live in Thousand Oaks, California, and wage war with the postman, the paperboy, and the town’s landscape committee.”

  Jason’s lips twitched in a half-grin. “You love them.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do. My dad is their only child, so I don’t have any cousins.”

  “On your dad’s side.”

  “I don’t know much about my mom’s family, except they’re not close.”

  “Is your granny French?”

  “Because of her name? Claudette?” Celia shrugged. “I don’t know. And I never met my grandfather. He died before I was born.”

  “So he could be from here.”

  “What are you getting at?” She could have a whole passel of cousins from her Grandpa George’s side and never even know it, but she didn’t see how that could have anything to do with anything.

  Jason told her the same thing he had said to Darla. “I think it’s just too coincidental that out of all of places and times, we were sent here. Together. There has to be a reason.”

  “You’re forgetting the Witching Well.”

  “Do you really believe in the Witching Well?”

  “I don’t really believe in time-travel, and yet, here I am.”

  “I want to go to Percy’s house.”

  “Why?”

  Jason shrugged. “I’m curious. Besides, what can it hurt—they’re not even there.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “We know they were getting on a boat.”

  “We know they were planning on getting on a boat. We don’t know that they ever made it. Besides, they were running away. Has it occurred to you that whatever they were running from might catch us?”

  “I bet Honoria has some dresses.”

  Celia stopped walking.

  “Maybe we could go before the ball.” Celia took a deep breath. “I won’t steal a dress, I’ll only borrow it…and maybe tweak it if I can find some ribbons and lace.”

  Jason smirked.

  “Don’t laugh. You need formal attire, too. How long have you been wearing that outfit?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m not really minding it. It’s almost like a second skin now.”

  Celia wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

  “So, you’re going to make me a nineteenth century tuxedo equivalent?”

  “And a nice cravat. When do you want to go?”

  Jason looked at his watch. “I think we can be back before dinner if we take a horse.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The sun glistened on the black horse. He pawed the dirt with his sharp hooves and showed Celia his teeth. His muscles rippled. Celia thought him both beautiful and terrifying.

  She looked down at her voluminous skirt. “I don’t know how I’m even going to get up.”

  “I’ll help you.” Jason grinned as he brushed the horse’s gleaming coat. Next, he threw a blanket over the creature’s back. To Celia’s amazement, the horse didn’t try to kick or bite Jason, but stood compliant, flanks quivering.

  “I’m just going to slow you down,” Celia said. “You should go without me.”

  “You said that we have to stick together. What if I end up back in the twenty-first century without you?”

  “How will I stay up there? I’m just going to slide off.”

  Jason secured the harness and placed the bit in the horse’s mouth. The stallion shook his head at Jason, but didn’t try to remove or even taste any of Jason’s fingers.

  “I’m not easily scared.”

  “Maybe not by rodents or spiders,” Jason said as he adjusted the saddle and pulled on the strap.

  “Horses are just big rodents.”

  Jason laughed, and Celia kicked dirt onto his boots.

  “Are you sure Montgomery is okay with this?”

  “I think he was happy to have me out of the way.”

  “Why? What’s he doing?”

  Jason grabbed the reins, held the horse by his side, and said, “Come on, you’re stalling.”

  “I’m going to keep on stalling. I’m not getting on that horse. I’d rather walk or stay here.”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  “No. I have a good imagination, and I’m pretty sure how—” she pointed at the horse, “that will go down. And I mean the word down literally, not figuratively.”

  “I’m not talking about the horse. Aren’t you curious about your ancestors?”

  “Sure, I’m curious about my ancestors. But yours aren’t all that interesting to me.”

  “You don’t think you’re related to Honoria?”

  “No. And you want to know why I think that? Because I’m sure my great-something grandparents would have picked a more suitable and attractive name. Honoria? It sounds like a STD. No wonder the woman has kleptomania. It’s like those parents who name their kid Chastity or Faith—of course, they’re going to rebel. Besides, I’m not comfortable going into someone’s home uninvited. That’s breaking and entering. You should know that, you’re a lawyer.”

  Jason folded his arms and frowned at her. “Get on the horse.”

  Celia balked. “I’m not going.”

  “Seriously? You’d rather stay here by yourself? Even if there are sure to be dresses…”

  Celia bit her lip, thinking. “Do you think I could take one of them home?”

  Jason laughed so hard the horse beside him started. Running his hand over the monster’s neck, Jason murmured soothing words. Turning his attention back to Celia, he asked, “How are you going to do that? You don’t even know how to go home, let alone carry baggage.”

  Celia glared at him. She really hated it when he was right.

  “And you accuse Honoria of kleptomania and yet, you want to steal her dresses?”

&n
bsp; “Not all of them.” Well, maybe she would if she could. But she couldn’t. Could she?

  “Just put your foot in the stirrup and I’ll help you.”

  Celia gave him a stern look. “Okay, but don’t touch my butt.”

  Jason pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, making Celia feel badly. Maybe he didn’t even want to touch her. She had just insulted him—insinuated that he was a pervert—when all he was trying to do was find a way to get them home.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Feeling contrite, she hitched up her skirts.

  Jason laced his fingers together, and Celia stepped into his hand, placed one foot in the stirrup, and tried to throw a leg over the back of the horse. She would have fallen if Jason hadn’t caught her. His hand slid up her leg, steadying her until she managed to actually sit on the horse. To her surprise, the animal didn’t try to buck her off. He didn’t even react to her sudden weight.

  Celia swallowed, shaken by the brief and sudden contact with Jason’s hand on her inner thigh. “Okay, that was way worse than touching my butt.”

  Jason swung on to the horse and settled himself behind her. “It would have been better if I’d let you fall?”

  Celia sniffed.

  The horse took a few steps, and Celia grabbed onto the saddle. Something was missing. She knew almost nothing about saddles, but she had seen them before. “Isn’t this supposed to have bump thingy up here?”

  “You mean a horn?”

  Was that what she meant? “I don’t know! That’s why I’m asking.”

  “That bump-thingy isn’t a handle.”

  “Well, obviously, since this doesn’t have one.”

  Jason, holding the reins with one hand, wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her against his chest. He nudged the horse with the heels of his boots, and made a clucking sound.

  The horse immediately responded and headed for the gate.

  Celia tightened her grip on the edge of the saddle. “How do you know how to do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make the horse go.”

  She felt him laugh, finding it strange to be so close, and yet not be able to see his face. She tried to not think about him, but with his thighs cradling hers, it was hard. Very hard.

  The horse moved with a rhythmic sway, and with every clip clop of his hooves, the tension in Celia drained away. In time, she found herself enjoying the green rolling hills, the constant parade of sheep, and the clouds chasing across the sky. They met only a few others on the dirt road: nuns in their long, black habits, a girl herding a gaggle of geese, a man with a donkey pulling a cart laden with unrecognizable vegetables. Jason said good day to all of them, while Celia could only stare.

  Everything was so different here. The people were as foreign as aliens. They walked slower, as if they didn’t have an agenda. The air smelled of wood smoke, grass, and burning leaves. On the horizon, she spotted the rooftops of a distant town and curiosity kicked in. She wanted to go to the marketplace, taste something from the bakery, and watch a blacksmith make something in his forge. For the first time since their arrival, she finally decided to stop worrying about what was, or was not, happening at home, and try to enjoy herself.

  “We can’t go into the village,” Jason said as if he read her mind. His breath fanned the back of her neck.

  “What? Why not?”

  “The less people who see us, the better. Remember, everyone will think we’re Percy and Honoria.”

  Celia slumped with disappointment. She thought about telling him that he sucked all the joy out of everything, but caught herself, knowing he was right. She hated that about him.

  “How will you know which house is theirs?”

  Jason pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Celia. She looked at the crudely drawn map. No numbers or street names, just a few crookedly drawn lines indicating streets radiating out from a square.

  “Their house is marked by the big X two streets from the church,” Jason said.

  Celia noted that he was probably right…again.

  They skirted around the edge of town, choosing the least busy lanes. A few men tipped their hats at them as the horse plodded past. Celia pointed to a house with shuttered windows behind a low stone wall. The iron gate had an attached sign reading Huntly House. The garden wore a sad, neglected look.

  “Good day, Mr. and Mrs. West,” a cheerful young voice called.

  Celia turned to see a pink-cheeked girl looking like a cast member of a PBS version of Pride and Prejudice standing at the street corner.

  Jason returned her wave. “This has to be it,” he whispered into Celia’s hair.

  Celia nodded at the girl and tried to smile as if breaking into someone’s house was something she did every day. The nerves in her belly began to shimmy.

  “How are we going to get inside? Remind me, why are we doing this?”

  “Because Percy’s grandmother wants to know where he is.”

  “So, why isn’t she here, instead of us?”

  “She’s a little old lady.”

  “But still, why are we helping her?”

  “Because I’m a Boy Scout.” Jason pulled the horse up to the wall, slid down, and tied the reins to the gate post. Turning, he held out his arms for Celia. “But I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you.”

  “I can be a Girl Scout.” She hesitated. Accept his help? Or land face first in the dirt? “I’m good with cookies.”

  “You want to get down on your own?” Jason smirked before walking away.

  Celia watched him open the gate. Knowing that he was waiting for her to ask for help, she debated. “Jason.”

  He turned, faced her, but kept walking backward, his grin never fading.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask him to help her. Inching forward, her foot sought the stirrup, but before she could fall, Jason reached her.

  He pulled her into his arms. “You are so stubborn,” he laughed.

  “Thanks,” she said, wiggling out of his embrace.

  Standing on opposite sides of the gate, their gazes locked for a moment. Celia looked away first, focusing her attention on the house. “Now what?”

  “We go inside.” Jason followed the brick path that ran along the side of the house.

  “That might be easier said than done,” Celia muttered as she followed his broad back.

  Fallen leaves and twigs peppered the scraggly lawn. A rabbit darted out from beneath a bush and headed for the alley. Celia wished she could go with him, even though she didn’t know where he was heading.

  Jason climbed the back steps and rapped on the door.

  No one answered.

  Celia shivered. “Even if we do find out where they are, what is the grandmother going to do? If she’s too old to come to Trevena, then she’s too old to take a boat to find her grandson.”

  Jason picked up the lock securing the door, studying it. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  “About your ancestors?”

  “They might be your ancestors, too.”

  “That would be coincidental.”

  “And you don’t believe in coincidences?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences or time-travel.”

  While Jason wrestled with the lock, Celia studied the windows. Stepping off the back porch, she went to a window, and slid her fingers around the casing. After a few minutes, she was able to pry it open. “You can crawl through this.”

  Jason stopped fiddling with the lock.

  “Or you can help me up first,” Celia told him.

  “I thought you didn’t want to break into someone’s house.”

  Celia looked in the window, tempted by the chance to see another slice of history. “That’s before I knew how easy it was going to be.”

  Jason grinned. “I may have to touch your butt.”

  Celia shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.”

  “Good to know.” Jason laced his finger
s together for her to step into.

  Celia looked at his hands before turning to him. “Just because I’m getting used to it, that doesn’t mean that you should get used to it.”

  “That’s a bit of a double standard.” Jason didn’t move from his ready-to-boost position.

  Celia placed her foot in his hands, knowing that he could easily toss her through the window.

  Jason lifted her up and she braced herself on the window sill. This was like going to a history museum and being able to go into the roped off rooms. She pushed off and landed on her feet.

  Jason hoisted up onto the sill before climbing into the room beside her. “This is so cool.”

  “I know, right?” Celia ran her gaze over all the furniture and artwork. She wanted to touch everything, but she still felt afraid, as if it was all a dream, and if she touched anything it could disappear. “What are we looking for?”

  Jason lifted his shoulder. “Anything that could tell us where Percy and Honoria might be.”

  “You could start with the desk.” Celia pointed at a petite secretary standing in the corner.

  Jason nodded, but didn’t move. “It feels wrong—snooping through other people’s stuff.”

  “I know.” Celia turned around, taking note of the room and the open doors. She chose one leading to a bedroom. “I’ll look in the wardrobes.”

  Jason opened one drawer, and then another. He took out a pack of letters tied with a string and thumbed through them.

  Celia crossed the room, her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. The bedroom had a quarter-sized bed with spindle head and base boards, a three legged table, and small desk, and a large wardrobe. A wave of emotion swept through Celia when she opened the wardrobe and saw all the gowns. The smell of cedar and rosemary wafted into the room. Celia touched the dresses, mentally reciting the different fabrics: silk, taffeta, gabardine, crinoline. She longed for her camera to somehow capture each dress. How she wished she could take each dress home! She carefully looked through the gowns, trying to commit each one to memory.

  “Celia.”

  Jason’s voice startled her, and she jumped as if caught in the act of some guilty pleasure.

  “We should go if we don’t want to get wet.”

  “Wet?” Celia glanced out the window and saw dark, gray clouds gathering in the west. “That was fast,” she said. “It was sunny a few minutes ago.”