He could not see what was in that room, not yet at least.
Milford donned his coat and accepted his fate, following Sebastian into the dark, cold night.
<>*LB*<>
…Ravenhurst, time lapse
Katherine had no idea how much time had passed when she squeezed her way out from behind the armoire. She shut the doors and pushed her butt against them, shoving as hard as she could. It moved slowly, but she finally got it back against the wall. She went over and grabbed the poker she left behind earlier, not even realizing it until now, and used the tip to wedge it under one of the claw feet.
She stood, looking at her handiwork, and brushed her hands off. At least, that would stop whomever or whatever had been trying to come in. At least, she hoped it would.
Apparently, she had been down there for a while. She looked around the room; the embers in the fire were almost black. Her stomach growled, reminding her how hungry she was. She ran her hand through her hair, feeling cobwebs and God only knew what else. She felt disgusting and quickly stripped out of her clothes, tossing them to the floor. The rolled-up scroll fell from the folds of her gown. She reached down and picked it up, unrolling it. She read the barely legible scrawl…
Find the key so she may return to me… I beg of you… please
Katherine’s entire body shook.
<>*LB*<>
…Radcliff Manor, captivity may not be so bad
Isabelle quickly shut her eyes as her captor entered the room. She listened intently, trying to picture mentally what he was doing. She smelled food… warm, delicious food. Her mouth watered and her stomach groaned with pains. She was starving. The last time she ate was when Judith dumped her food on the floor, if you could call it food after she got finished with it. Bitch.
Isabelle barely lifted her lashes; she had to peek. A large man walked carefully into the room. He was holding a tray, or at least, trying to. There was a delicate bowl placed in the center of the tray. The contents spilled over the sides as he slowly made his way over to the small table in front of the fire.
He tried to keep the tray balanced in his hands, but when it spilled, once again he cursed under his breath. Isabelle smiled; she couldn’t help herself. He at least didn’t look like a troll. She watched as he set the tray down. He turned and looked over his shoulder at her briefly. She quickly shut her eyes, only opening them when she heard him stoking the fire. She could see his profile perfectly now.
His face was not the fresh face of a young man barely beginning his life, but one of a man. He had light brown hair with a smattering of gray at the temples. It was full and curled up at the ends as it brushed against his collar. His jaw was strong, chiseled, with full lips. There was a jagged, reddish mark down the side of his face, marring the perfection of his strong profile. Instantly, anger flared within her. What a horrible injustice to mar such perfection.
Normally, Isabelle found herself drawn to younger men, ones who had yet to bloom fully. They were more pliable that way. She wondered if he too would be pliable… or was he the one in charge?
Looking at him now, stoking the fire with his shirt rolled up, she focused on his strong forearms and the way his muscles bunched under the back of his shirt. She could see he was more of a take-charge kind of man. She let her gaze travel lower, watching him lean back onto his haunches, the muscles in his thighs straining against the fabric of his breeches. She saw quite clearly the fabric straining in another area as well. Goodness.
She was getting warmer just looking at him. She decided quickly her predicament was not as bad as she originally thought. Her situation could be worse; he could be some toothless heathen from the wilds. She was smart enough to see her blessings when they were placed before her. And this, she admitted, was one of them.
Isabelle admired any man who commanded attention, no matter where he was, and this man kneeling in front of the fire certainly did. Why she ever settled for Devlin was something she would need to write off as a very poor judgment call on her part. She closed her eyes tightly again as he rose to his feet. She could hear his heavy steps closing the distance between them. She dared not open her eyes, but could feel him standing right beside her.
Grayson thought she would have awakened by now. He looked over at the tray he prepared for her and acknowledged it could wait. She really needed rest. He reached out his hand and brushed her hair across the pillows, away from her face. He leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead. “Sweetest of dreams to you, my winter princess.”
Isabelle listened to his rich baritone voice; it was so manly. She shivered inwardly, but not from the cold.
A few moments later when she heard the door close, she couldn’t help smiling to herself. Perhaps she should thank Devlin for being the worst kind of wastrel, since the result seemed not to be such a bad thing after all.
Ravenhurst
Running water splashed into the white, claw-footed tub as steam filled the room. Katherine jumped in the tub, relaxing her aching muscles in the water. She wondered what the note meant. Who wrote it? Was it the knight, or someone else? There were too many unanswered questions swirling in her mind. She submerged her head under the water. She scrubbed her hair, ridding it of any bugs that may have jumped into it while she was in the hidden passage.
Once finished, she climbed from the tub and ran naked across the room. She forgot the robe. Shivering, she pulled a different dress from the armoire; this one was a simple muslin gown. It was yellow and warm. She grabbed a small linen towel from where she left it earlier and used it to grab the necklace. She sat down on the floor in front of the fire and started toweling her hair dry. The necklace was sitting on her lap, sparkling in the firelight. She touched it lightly; a shock ran through her body, just like every other time she touched it. A thick, swirling ,white mist clouded her mind, stealing her sight. Once her vision cleared, a scene appeared.
New York City 2012
A large bedroom came into focus. The girl with the awesome clothes was lying in the middle of a huge bed with a tufted headboard, asleep. Katherine knew now it had to be Marguerite. She tried to see what she was wearing this time. Her eyes zeroed in; of course, she was in a sweet pair of silk pajamas. They were black and white polka dotted. Oh, she loved silk pajamas. They certainly beat the hell out of the little girl, flouncy gowns she was stuck wearing to bed. Marguerite looked pretty, too. Katherine wished she looked that good sleeping. Marguerite rolled over, making her hair fan out on the pillow. How was that even possible? Her hair even looked good while she slept. It was just not fair.
Disgusted, Katherine turned her attention to the rest of the room. A flat screen television was at the bottom of the bed. A movie was playing on the screen. A thrill of excitement rushed through her. How she missed television; she adored a good movie. Up until recently, it had been about her only past time. What was playing? She focused her mind… hearing a shrill cry…
London East End 1888
“… White Chapel, another ‘orrible murder!”
The picture became clearer. A dirty newsboy stood on the edge of a wet, cobbled street, holding papers. Covered hansom cabs clamored by, the horses pulling them, barely missing the boy and splashing him with dirty water from the street. He cussed and wiped the water from his face, shaking his little, dirty fist in the air.
Gaslight lanterns, hanging from metal carriage hooks on poles lining the street, cast yellowish hues. Prostitutes gathered under them, decked out in their tawdriest finery, while others leaned against the stone walls of buildings. A cloaked figure emerged from a darkened alleyway. Women called out, promising pleasures of their bodies in exchange for coin. The cloaked figure ignored them, pulling the brim of his top hat down low and his cloak collar higher.
He stopped under a gaslight, his face hidden from view. He pulled something from the bag he carried, a doctor’s bag. It was a knife, the steel blade glinting under the streetlight.
Katherine realized who he must be… Jack the Rip
per!
She was elated; she held the amulet tighter, willing to see even more. It was one of her all-time favorite movies. She concentrated on the scene, ready to settle down and amuse herself for a while.
She felt another jolt course through her body, sending tingling sensations throughout. Another flash of white stole her sight…
A door slammed, making her jump from her skin, returning her mind instantly back to the present. The necklace thudded onto the carpet as she stood and ran over to the door. She stuck her head out, peering around the corner. The hallway was dark. She listened for any sounds; it was quiet as a tomb. She waited another moment; still nothing. She closed the door; it creaked loudly. She walked over to the pitcher of water on the table near the bed and lifted the glass to pour some water. She made a sour face; the water tasted nasty. She padded across the room and resumed her vigil in front of the fire. She picked the necklace up off the floor. She felt another jolt course through her body, stealing her sight once more. She reopened her eyes in another time.
London East End 1888
Fog slowly rolled across a large body of water.
A girl sat on the edge of an embankment. Boats creaked and bobbed as water pushed them back and forth against the dock of a waterfront. Katherine caught a whiff of some foul odor. Was that from the river? Gross. It must be the river Thames. She heard it stunk, but this was terrible. She covered her face, but the vile smell was caught in her nose.
She heard the shrill cry of the small newsboy again… White Chapel… the rest drowned out by foghorns blowing from some distant place in the water.
The girl came into focus again. Her face buried in her knees, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around them. She was speaking. She shook her head and buried it again. Katherine tried to listen to what she was saying, and concentrated as hard as she could. A dull ache started pressing out from behind her eyes.
“Please, please, please take me out of this hell hole,” she cried.
Katherine could feel the girl’s fear gripping her as she was pulled closer to the scene…
The caped figure appeared again. He was headed straight towards her, his boots scraping across the wet, cobbled street.
Oh shit, was he going to kill her? Katherine didn’t remember this scene from the movie at all.
Then the girl lifted her face. Shock and terror coursed through Katherine’s body. Oh no, the girl was, is, Marguerite, still wearing her sweet, silk black and white polka dot pajamas, except now, she looked like death itself were stalking her.
Katherine shut her eyes. The vision did not go away. She yelled out to Marguerite, “Run!”
Marguerite looked up as if she heard Katherine.
Katherine screamed again “RUN! He is going to kill you!” she warned Marguerite once more.
Marguerite shook her head back and forth as tears slid down her face, but sat there, unmoving.
Katherine was getting pissed. What the hell? Was she an idiot? The least she could do was make a break for it. Katherine’s mind raced. Her breath came in short gasps as she continued to yell at Marguerite. “Don’t sit there. Run, fool!” Katherine screamed once more. She couldn’t believe it; what in the hell was going on? She concentrated as hard as she could, her head aching in response as she tried to envision the apartment again. The bed, the television… oh no, not the television. He was almost to her now…
Katherine pressed her mind as hard as she could, trying to picture the bed again… the black tufted headboard, the silver and blue damask comforter, the mirrored end tables, the silver lamps adorned with crystal prisms that dangled from underneath black silk shades…
Finally, after she felt like her head was going to explode, another jolt coursed through her, stealing her sight once more. She held the necklace so tightly, her hands hurt. Slowly, the pain ebbed from her mind as the white, swirling curtain lifted once again and her vision cleared.
Marguerite was once more in the apartment. She was hugging her knees, rocking back and forth on the bed as sobs tore from her throat.
Katherine dropped the necklace. It thudded onto the floor as she scurried away from it, stumbling to stand. Her entire body shook, and she felt sick to her stomach. She grabbed the towel and lifted the chain of the necklace, holding it away from her body. She ran across the room, and practically threw it into the drawer. She kicked it closed with her foot. The entire dresser shook, rattling bottles. She walked backward away from the dresser; she almost killed Marguerite.
To be continued…
Shadows of Yesterday
Available Now
Acknowledgements
My sincerest heartfelt thanks and appreciation goes to everyone who has read my books, enjoyed my books, and to those of you who have supported me, by reviewing or blogging about my books…
You are Wonderful! You are Awesome! You are Amazing!
THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!
From the bottom of my heart -
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring” – Marilyn Monroe
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Lorraine Beaumont lives on the east coast with her wonderful family. When she is not writing twisted tales about places she conjures in her mind, she enjoys spending time with her family, trying out new recipes, taking pictures, watching great movies, renovating her hundred-year-old house and finding treasure. She can spot a “find” at just about any yard sale, auction, or flea market.
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Table of Contents
Welcome to Ravenhurst
When No One is Looking
Be Careful What You Wish For
When In Rome
Overstaying A Welcome
Second Helpings
Not Alone
Denial
Desperation
Consequence
Memories Don’t Always Fade
Things aren’t always what they seem
No One Likes to Share
Recompense
The Games That We Play
A Moment’s Pleasure Fades Quickly
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
A Penny for Your Thoughts
Finders Keepers
Justice Makes A Cruel Bedfellow
If Walls Could Talk
Salvation
Idle Minds
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
Additional books
About the author
Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance Page 16