Belmary House 6

by Cassidy Cayman

  “I think it’s you who’s misremembering,” Milo said. “And something so simple as a name you gave yourself.” He tutted as if Nick were to be pitied.

  “You’re trying to tell me these wastrels are calling me by a name I supposedly called myself? Whatever would be the reasoning for that?”

  Milo turned to him. “You really don’t remember? This isn’t just part of your act to make Ariana believe you have feelings for her?”

  “I do have feelings for Ariana,” Nick exploded. His head throbbed as thoughts and feelings he was certain weren’t his tried to crowd their way in from some shadowy corner deep in his mind. Some shadowy corner where he’d stuffed them. Forced himself to forget. “No, that can’t be right,” he said, pressing his knuckles to his eyes.

  “It certainly can be,” Milo taunted as if reading his mind. “Give it a bit more thought and see what surfaces. Shall I help you?” He reached his hand toward Nick’s forehead but he recoiled.

  “Don’t.” He pushed himself to the farthest edge of the bench and tipped his face out the window, hoping a breeze might calm him.

  Dark, angry memories assailed him. It seemed there was a time when he’d been more than just disgruntled at his old friend’s new paramour, Tilly. There’d been a time when he felt such awful rage he’d wanted to destroy her life. She’d embarrassed him, turned Ashford against him. Ashford had turned him down for a loan that might have changed things. Might have kept him from ruin.

  Then he met a girl who looked just like Tilly… or had he met Milo first? That part was hazy. He found out things he could barely comprehend. He could go to another time where no one would shun him, become rich and powerful. But the girl couldn’t know who he really was, not ever. Who had told him that? Milo? Or had he come up with that part of the plan?

  The plan. It all rushed back at him. The false name, the lies upon lies upon lies. The hatred and greed that made him do the unthinkable. In his mind’s eye he saw his own hand reaching for the powder, shaking it into her cup. Handing it to her.

  No!

  Sweat beaded at his collar and hairline. He couldn’t let Milo know he’d finally recalled what the nasty little man had been trying to convince him of all along. Because it wasn’t going to go that way again. He wasn’t that person, that monster. He took a few careful breaths and finally turned his face from the window, hoping he looked the complete opposite of how he felt.

  Milo grinned. “Anything pop out in that noggin of yours?”

  Nick chose to change the subject, pretending the sweat on his brow was from the closed carriage. “I don’t know why we had to take the carriage to the docks. Why not transport us there and then do the time spell?”

  Milo chuckled and moved his hat around on his bald head. “Aren’t you the spoiled prince these days?” He narrowed his eyes when Nick refused to rise to the bait. “But wouldn’t you prefer to be king?”

  “Enough of that, Milo,” Nick said irritably. He may have agreed to meet Ariana under the pretense that they’d been together before, but now that he really knew her, he refused to speak of it, even though Milo kept prodding at him. He was not that monster from his memories.

  “What are you dawdling about for?” Prod prod. It was as if the man was actually poking him with something sharp. Nick wondered if it was a spell. He’d grown quite paranoid about spells lately. “And for that matter,” Milo continued, “why are you even bothering with this investment scheme? Her majesty’s coffers continue to overflow. If you’re tired of being on an allowance, you know you can always—”

  “Close your rotten mouth,” Nick said, angry that Milo seemed to read his earlier thoughts. “I’m on no more of an allowance than you are.”

  “But I’m an employee of the estate,” Milo said calmly. “I have a title and everything.”

  Do not punch him, Nick warned himself. You’ll never get to 1814 if you punch him.

  “Why are you so concerned about this plan of yours if you’re content with your fine title?”

  Milo breathed out as if Nick was the irritating one. “Because we could have so much more. We could have it all. We’d be in charge.”

  Nick raised a haughty brow. “We?” he challenged.

  “You, then. But you mustn’t forget who brought you to this place. Who reminded you of what was and now is. And could be.”

  “Reminded me of what? That I met Ariana?”

  “You know the rest of the story,” Milo said, refusing to meet his eye.

  “Story, indeed. That’s all I think it is.” Nick felt a creeping sensation up his arms as he thought about those real-seeming memories Milo had implanted in his mind somehow. How he’d conjured up all the old, bad feelings he’d ever had, made him thirst for vengeance that he didn’t know he needed. And now he was plagued with more terrible memories. They had to be put there by Milo. They couldn’t be real. He turned away and stared out the window as they slowly made their way toward London.

  After a long silence, broken only by the horses’ clopping hooves, Nick risked a glance at Milo. His brow was furrowed as if he was desperately working out a problem in his mind. Why was he so determined to be rid of Ariana? Nick’s anger faded and was replaced with intense curiosity.

  “Say, Milo,” he began in a much friendlier manner. “You never told me why everyone involved back then actually lost their memories.”

  He expected the weaselly man to make something else up or confess it was all lies, but Milo only shrugged.

  “That’s the part no one remembers,” he said, tapping his forehead. “If it’s in there somewhere, I can wrangle it out with my recollection spell. But every single person I’ve, er, interviewed, doesn’t have anything past … well, past when you…”

  Nick cleared his throat loudly, not wanting to hear. Not wanting to believe he was capable of such a thing. He had his vices but murder wasn’t one of them.

  “And you’re certain these memories you’ve pulled out of people who were there are real?”

  “Who are there,” Milo corrected. “Of course they’re real. It’s all happening again, just as it did before.”

  Nick squirmed in his seat, knocking against the luxurious travel bag. “That doesn’t mean it has to happen the same way now.”

  Once again Milo shrugged. “I do wonder about that,” he said.

  “What I wonder is why everyone’s memories stop at the same point,” Nick grumbled. “It seems like what comes after might be important.”

  Milo took off his hat and rubbed his shiny head. For once the avaricious gleam in his eyes had dulled. “It just might at that.”

  Chapter 5

  Dexter Jacobs wiped the condensation off the ice bucket and checked his watch. Maybe he should have left the wine off the table until his wife of three years was actually home. Three years. It seemed both an age and only minutes. He was more in love with Emma than the moment he met her, thirteen years ago.

  Of course only the three and a half since he’d finally made it to her time counted. She still didn’t like speaking of the terrible year she spent trapped in her own past. It was a miracle she continued working at Belmary House after the portal there had whisked her back in time, nearly causing her to lose her mind and her life.

  Dexter had been more than tempted to skip ahead during those ten years he’d spent slowly catching up to her once she’d been safely returned to her proper time by that mad old fool Liam Wodge. Liam could transport anyone to any time at all and had offered more than once when he saw how miserable Dexter was during those years.

  But Dex hadn’t wanted to be the younger man riding on sophisticated Emma’s coattails. He wanted to live out those ten years, make something of himself, make her proud of him. And of course he couldn’t have left his parents to wonder what had become of him, especially when his cousin Tilly— more like a sister, really— had ditched them all for the 1800s.

  He found a dish towel and wrapped it around the ice bucket, the water beading around its edges reminding him that Em
ma was more than an hour late for their romantic anniversary dinner. He’d wanted to do it up right at a posh restaurant and tickets to the opera after, but Emma had been working grueling hours and had hinted she wouldn’t be averse to staying in. Recalling the lascivious look she’d given him when she said she’d arrange for her daughter Dahlia to spend the night at a friend’s house swept away any irritation that might have been building for the last hour.

  As he checked on the baked pasta dish he’d lovingly prepared and which was slowly curling in on itself in the pan, he finally heard the door to their flat open. And then slam shut hard enough to rattle the oven door.

  “I don’t care,” Dahlia screamed. She screamed a lot these days. “Eat your bloody romantic supper. I’ll starve in my room for all I care. If it’s ruined it’s your fault for not letting me just go to Annie’s!”

  Dahlia’s bedroom door slammed and then he heard her open and bang shut her closet door for good measure. He hurried to the hall to find Emma standing with her bag in her hand and a shell-shocked look on her face as she stared down the hall toward Dahlia’s room.

  “What’s this about?” he asked, taking her bag and helping her off with her coat.

  He adored his step-daughter, but couldn’t help being disappointed that their already not-ideal anniversary was taking a downward turn.

  “Should I go after her?” Emma wondered. He knew she didn’t want him to answer but he did.

  “Hell no. Whatever she’s done this time, she can stew about it on her own for a while. It’s our anniversary.”

  She forced a smile and kissed him. “Happy anniversary.”

  He snorted. “So what has she done that was so awful you cancelled her sleepover?”

  Emma’s eyes welled with tears. “She and that little… Annie… were caught shoplifting at one of those awful high street cheap shops.”

  “Oh, that is bad,” he said, pulling her in for a comforting hug.

  “They skipped their last class. I got the call just as I was leaving work. It took me forever to talk the shop manager out of pressing charges. Their school bags were stuffed to bursting. She said it equaled to over three hundred pounds.”

  “That’s really bad,” Dexter said grimly. He pulled away and studied Emma’s tired, worried eyes. “Do you think they’ve done it before?”

  “How could they not have?” she wailed. “I shoplifted once. A pair of earrings and I nearly wet myself with fear. Those little… they must have worked up to such a heist.”

  Even though she was crying in earnest now, Dexter had to laugh. “It wasn’t quite a heist. Now she’s been caught we’ll make her life so miserable she’ll quit her journey up the crime ladder.”

  “I hope so. She’s fairly miserable right now.”

  He kissed her forehead and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Well, we needn’t be. Shall we try to have our celebration?” He pointed to the sweaty wine bucket and wafted his fingers under his nose. “Can you smell the ziti? I’m almost positive it’s not rock hard yet.”

  “Did you bake ziti?” she asked, a hint of a real smile curling her lips. “My favorite.”

  “Of course. I got you a present as well.”

  “But we swore not to!” A grin took over her beautiful face. “I’m so glad though, because I got you something, too.”

  “Minx,” he said, leading her toward the table.

  He pulled out the dining chair for her but her lovely bum had barely touched the seat when a blaring alarm went off. His first thought was the smoke detectors.

  “Bloody hell, is she sneaking a cig in her room again?” Dexter asked. “Sit, darling, I’ll go see to it. We probably just forgot to change the batteries. And don’t worry, if she’s smoking, I’ll skin her.”

  Emma froze in her half-seated position. Her eyes grew wide with fear. “It’s not the smoke detector.”

  ***

  Dex pulled the car into the small employee parking lot behind Belmary House. The place was a popular tourist attraction now, restored to its former glory by Emma’s and his careful attention. He knew it actually looked a fair bit better than it did in its glory days because he’d been there several times to visit Tilly before Liam passed away.

  He was furious their anniversary dinner had been completely ruined, but he had an excited and apprehensive feeling. He hadn’t seen his cousin properly in at least seven years. He didn’t count those few days three years ago when she popped up in their time, lost and frazzled. That had been rectified and everything put back on course.

  “Oh God, it can’t be another one of those, can it?” he muttered as he punched in the code to get into the house after hours.

  If his idiot cousin had another row with her husband before they were married he’d— actually, he didn’t know what he’d do. Now that Liam was gone, there would be no easy way to get her back. The fact that all of Tilly’s children might not have been born due to her running away from Ashford still froze the blood in his veins. If it hadn’t been for Ashford nearly getting himself killed from a hacked-together spell in order to come after Tilly, Dex wouldn’t have a niece and two nephews. Not that he got to see them anymore. He missed having a relationship with them, but understood Tilly’s aversion to magic and her decision to keep her children from time travel.

  He shuddered as he trudged up the stairs. Whatever he was going to find in the portal room, it wasn’t going to be good. Nothing good ever came of that thing.

  He unlocked the heavy padlock and called through the door. “No one’s going to harm you. I’m here to help.”

  He was fine with continuing to keep the door locked, but he’d been against the ridiculous alarm system Emma had set up. He thought she’d dismantled it once Liam closed the portal up for good, but apparently she wasn’t taking any chances.

  He cracked the door and peered through it, mindful that it might not be some hapless victim, but someone who knew what they were doing and might bash his head in. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside. They’d completely cleared it of furniture and there was nowhere to hide.

  Except behind the door.

  A young girl stepped out, dressed in a dusty, rumpled gown. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he clenched his fists to keep from hollering at her. His idiot cousin had done it again. She looked even younger than he remembered.

  “Cousin Dexter?” a very posh, English, and non-Tilly voice asked.

  His eyes flew open. “Good God, Ariana? Is that you? You’re the spitting image of your mother.”

  She flung her arms around him. “I knew I’d remember what you looked like. I haven’t seen you since I was small, but I knew I would—” she stopped abruptly. Shoving herself away, she glared at him with all the ferocity and pompous arrogance he remembered from Ashford.

  “You actually look quite a bit like your father, as well,” he said. “How old are you now? And bloody hell, what are you doing here?” His heart sank, recalling something. But surely not? He prayed not.

  He didn’t think it possible but the glare on Ariana’s face darkened. “I’m seventeen, which you’d know if you didn’t stop visiting.” Her voice cracked and her blustery anger evaporated. “And if my parents hadn’t lied to me my entire life.”

  “They had their reasons,” he said. “But wait, does this mean they don’t know where you’re at? You’ve got to return at once. Your mother is right now going mad with terror.”

  “I assure you she’s not,” Ariana said.

  “I assure you she is,” he asserted, positive by evading his question that Tilly had no idea where her firstborn child was. He didn’t need to have lived with a teenage girl these past years to see through that tactic. He barely kept himself from groaning at the thought of another teenager in his house. “I’m delighted to see you Ariana, but you need to return at once.”

  She looked at him narrowly. “You don’t know how to use the portal, do you? That’s why the door is locked. That’s why that scary woman kept repeating for me to not be alarmed.”
Ariana looked at all the corners of the room. “Where is she?” She lowered her voice. “Are we safe from her, Cousin Dexter?”

  Dexter sighed. Not only had Emma kept her alarm system in place, she hadn’t turned off the recording that automatically played any time the motion sensor was set off. Emma thought her message was reassuring, but it was straight out of a horror movie.

  “You can just call me Dexter,” he said. “Or Dex. That’s what your mum called me. And that voice is a recording. Believe it or not, the actual woman is very kind.”

  She blinked a few times in confusion and he was glad to see that she didn’t seem to be a seasoned time traveler. Or hadn’t come very far forward. He didn’t bother to explain about cameras and motion sensors or recorded messages.

  Ariana’s shoulders slumped. “You said mum called you Dex. She’s still alive, you know.”

  “No, she’s not,” he said harshly. “Not in this time, she’s not. Nor should you be, which is why you need to go back.”

  “Why did you stop visiting us? Did Mum and Father make you stop so they could keep their wretched secrets?”

  Ah, classic move, completely ignoring all reason. She and Dahlia would get on like a house on fire. Good thing he was aware of these insidious maneuvers. But the bad thing was, he still didn’t know how to properly deal with them.

  “The portal was closed by a powerful man who has since passed on. I don’t know how to do the spell he used to do that would allow me to travel back to visit you and the boys.” He decided honesty was the best policy. He knew he’d never be able to keep up if he tried to be cleverer than a teen girl. “How are Grayson and Christian, by the way?”

  “You forgot Nathan,” she said.

  His jaw dropped. “I didn’t know about Nathan. Four children? Good for you, Til.” Tears welled but he blinked them away, not wanting Ariana to sense he might be weakening. He did long to ask her some more questions. He was sorry he’d missed out on so much of his cousin’s life.