Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt

by Call Back Yesterday. txt (lit)

  match would offer Usi unprecedented access to the heart

  of Egypt’s power.

  “We must not delay,” Nuru said just loudly enough so

  Usi had to hear. “It is time for you to return to the palace,

  my lady.”

  Meskhenet nodded and stared at Usi without comment

  or emotion, an expression to suggest he was no longer

  worthy of her time. She had seen her mother use it with

  great success, and it worked this time as well, because the

  chief architect moved aside. Saying nothing to him, she

  continued toward the river.

  As they neared the line of palms on the shore, Nuru

  whispered, “He is watching you, my lady.”

  “Usi?”

  Nuru peeked back. “He is, too.”

  Too? Meskhenet could not look behind her as Nuru

  had, but she took with her the joy of knowing Kafele’s

  heart was with her, even when he could not be. She hoped

  it would strengthen her for what was to come.

  ***

  Darcy put her notebook onto her lap and considered

  what she had written. With every word, this story was

  proving to be less and less like the other tales Jaddeh had

  told her. Was she really recalling her grandmother’s story?

  This was most certainly not a tale shared with a child.

  And it was a story that added to her disquiet with her

  memories of Simon’s caresses. She wanted them to be more

  than a mistake. He could not pretend he was completely

  engrossed in his work any longer, because she had seen

  his strong passions each time he held her.

  She looked down at what she had written. Meskhenet

  and Kafele yearned for more than these heated kisses . . .

  and so did she. Maybe Grandmother Kincaid had been

  right. Maybe she was a wanton. In Simon’s arms, she

  wanted to throw aside all inhibitions and follow her

  passions as they merged with his.

  Her fingers trembled as she closed her notebook and

  put a top on the ink bottle. Setting both on the desk, she

  sat and turned another sheet of paper into the typewriter.

  She bent to study the next page of Simon’s work. By now,

  she was well acquainted with his abbreviations, so she

  did not have to interrupt him or seek him out in the library

  to explain.

  She paused with her fingers arched above the keys.

  Was Simon in the library or with his father? It was

  midmorning, so Hastings might be awake. She wondered

  how he fared. Surely Mrs. Pollock would have come to

  warn her if something more was amiss.

  Behind her, the door opened and closed. She turned,

  smiling, to greet Simon. Her smile faltered when she saw

  Reverend Fairfield. He was wearing a great coat. Was he

  just arriving, or was he on his way back to the vicarage?

  “Simon isn’t here,” she said.

  “I’m not looking for him.” The vicar’s voice was as

  strained as his expression. “I was looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have something to say which is for your

  ears alone.”

  “Of course.” She wished she was as serene as she

  sounded.

  “You should know very little happens in Halyeyn I’m

  not privy to eventually. That includes Rosewood Hall.”

  He picked up one of Simon’s books and stared at its spine

  as he added, “You were a fool to think I wouldn’t hear

  that, last night while Hastings was lying injured at the

  foot of the stairs, you were in your rooms alone with

  Simon.”

  “That’s true, but it isn’t as you seem to think.”

  “What I seem to think? I think you spent the night

  with him. Is that false?”

  She flushed, but kept her gaze on his face. Coming to

  her feet, she held her head high. She would not let him—

  or anyone else—shame her when she had done nothing

  wrong other than to have a fearsome nightmare. Simon’s

  arms around her as he comforted her was a precious

  memory. Not only had she felt safe, but that she was where

  she belonged, a feeling she had not had since she had been

  brought to England.

  Until she had a chance to sort all of this out and

  persuade Simon that leaving what had happened between

  them unsaid was a mistake, she did not wish to speak of

  this with anyone else. Especially not with Reverend

  Fairfield, but she had no choice. She would not be

  defensive, just honest. She almost smiled as she realized

  she could take a lesson from Meskhenet. She must not let

  the vicar fluster her. As long as she appeared unruffled,

  she gave her explanation credence.

  “Reverend Fairfield,” she said quietly, “Simon did

  come to my room last night. I had a nightmare and cried

  out in my sleep. He heard me and came to ensure that

  nothing was wrong. That’s all that happened, I can assure

  you.”

  He snorted in derision. “Simon is a virile man. You

  are a not unattractive woman. Yet you want me to believe

  you lured him to your rooms and then you did nothing but

  talk?”

  “I want you to believe the truth.”

  “Then you should speak it.”

  “I have spoken the truth. It’s your choice to believe it

  or not.”

  When she turned to leave, he said, “I haven’t yet said

  what I intended.”

  “Reverend Fairfield, I don’t believe I wish to hear

  anything else you have to say.”

  “No? I have a proposal you should hear. I offer you

  £300 if you leave Rosewood Hall and return to London by

  the end of the week. I believe that is more than the salary

  Simon promised you.”

  Darcy gasped. Three hundred pounds would more than

  pay for her trip to Egypt. It would help her find a house

  there, as well. She faltered, reluctant to throw away this

  chance to obtain her dreams. When Reverend Fairfield’s

  lips began to tilt in a smile, she wondered how a man of

  the church could wear such a fiendishly satisfied

  expression.

  She shook her head. “Sir, I’ll continue to be honest

  and say I’m sorry I can’t accept your generous offer. I

  promised Simon I would remain here until his manuscript

  is finished and on its way to his publisher.”

  “He can finish it himself. Why don’t you just say yes

  and we can be done with it? You know this is the exact

  price for your cooperation.

  “I won’t be bought.”

  “I’m not buying anything but your absence.” He

  reached under his coat. When he tossed an envelope onto

  the desk, it scattered pound notes around her typewriter.

  “Take it, Darcy. Then leave. £300 will last you a very long

  time if you’re frugal. And if a reference is what you want,

  I’ll be glad to arrange for an excellent one.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back. “No.”

  “No?” he repeated as if he could not believe her quiet

  refusal. “What more do you want, Darcy? No, there’s no

  need for you to answer that question. It’s clear you want

  Simon and hi
s inheritance.”

  “If I wanted anyone’s inheritance, I could have my

  own.”

  “Your own?” His eyes widened in shock. “From

  whom?”

  “My private business is none of your concern. I have

  given you my answer. I shall remain at Rosewood Hall

  until I complete the job I’ve barely begun.”

  Reverend Fairfield snarled, “To seduce Simon?”

  “To work on his manuscript.” She refused to be baited

  into anger. “If you’re finished, sir, I must ask you to excuse

  me. I have more work to do.”

  “Your supposed work will be of little use if I send this

  letter to Mr. Caldwell.” He withdrew another envelope

  from under his coat.

  “Letter? Why are you writing to Simon’s publisher?”

  “Why don’t you read it? Then you can see how you

  shall ruin Simon.” He opened the envelope and held a page

  out to her.

  She took it. In his excellent penmanship, Reverend

  Fairfield was suggesting that the publishing house

  withdraw its offer to Simon because of faulty research.

  “This is a lie,” she said quietly as she tossed the letter

  atop the money. “Simon is meticulous in his work.”

  “But he has made mistakes.”

  “One that I know of, but he would have corrected it

  himself before sending the manuscript to Mr. Caldwell.

  He is double-checking everything.”

  Reverend Fairfield picked up the letter, but not the

  money. With a smile, he folded it and placed it beneath his

  coat. “I shan’t post this if you leave Rosewood Hall.”

  “When I tell Simon about this, he’ll put an end to this

  attempt to interfere with his work.”

  Reverend Fairfield smiled. “You could tell him, but

  you won’t.”

  “I tire of your threats. I—”

  “I’m not threatening you.” He wore the serene

  expression she had seen on other vicars’ faces. “I’m being

  honest. If you go to him with this, whom will he believe?

  You or me? He knows I keep this family’s well-being

  uppermost in my mind at all times.”

  Darcy did not want to admit he was correct, but he

  was. The admiration Simon had for his cousin was strong,

  and, if she spoke to Simon, she had no doubts the vicar

  would deny the whole. Was that what he hoped she would

  do? By making her this offer and then challenging her to

  say nothing of it, was he expecting her to run to Simon

  with her complaints? Then, the vicar could denounce her.

  Whom would Simon believe? She suspected it would be

  his cousin.

  When she said nothing, Reverend Fairfield asked, “Do

  we have an agreement then? £300 plus a favorable

  reference if you’re gone by the end of the week.”

  “I can’t—”

  “If you haven’t left by then, I shall post the letter to

  Caldwell without delay.”

  “Why are you so determined to have me leave?”

  “As you put it so bluntly, my private business is none

  of your concern.”

  Darcy stared at the determination on his face. He would

  do as he said. Arguing now would gain her nothing. A

  week? She might find a solution in that time, a way to

  convince Simon to listen to her. Taking a deep breath, she

  said, “You’ll know my decision by week’s end, sir.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s simple.” She smiled as icily as he had. “If I’m

  gone at the week’s end, you can be sure I shall send you a

  forwarding address so you may post the £300 and a

  favorable reference. If I remain at Rosewood Hall, my

  answer is just as obvious.” She turned to leave. “Good

  day, sir.”

  “Darcy,” he drawled to her back.

  She should walk out of the office and put as much

  space as she could between herself and the vicar, whose

  devotion to his family was leading him in a misguided

  direction. “Yes?” she asked, facing him as he gathered up

  the last of the money and put it back beneath his coat.

  He stepped closer to her. When he put his finger

  beneath her chin and tilted it up, she was shocked.

  “You shall never get what you want from Simon,” he

  said. “He will send you on your way with your salary and

  a good reference when you have completed your work here.

  If you think you mean anything to him, you’re silly. He

  has vowed never to care for anyone—other than his

  surviving family—ever again. I’m not so shortsighted.”

  He cupped her cheek. When she tried to step away, his

  other hand curved around her nape, holding her in place.

  “What do you say, Darcy?”

  “I’m not shortsighted either.” She twisted away from

  him and gasped as her hair dropped about her shoulders.

  Ignoring her hair pins tumbling to the floor, she raised her

  chin. “I don’t know why you want to hurt Simon, but it’s

  clear that you do.”

  “You mistake my intentions.”

  “I don’t believe I do.”

  “You know as well as I how you have been a disruption

  to his studies.”

  “I am helping him.”

  “And so am I! I want him to achieve all he deserves.”

  She stared at him. Grandmother Kincaid’s devotion

  to the family had been the reason cited for making Darcy

  miserable. Was this how all families were? She thought of

  the girls at Miss Mumsey’s who dreamed of falling in love,

  but knew they would marry whomever their parents chose.

  Biting back her agreement to take the money so she

  could leave England right away, she replied, “Reverend

  Fairfield, I’ve given you the only answer I intend to give

  you.”

  Darcy’s outraged exit was ruined when the door opened

  nearly in her face. She jumped back as the door swung

  toward her.

  Simon walked in, smiling broadly. “Andrew, why

  didn’t you come directly to Father’s rooms? He’s eager to

  see you.”

  “I was on my way there.” Reverend Fairfield looked

  at Darcy, his smile daring her to condemn him.

  As he turned toward her, Simon’s brows lowered.

  “Why are you hiding behind the door?”

  “I was on my way out when you came in.” She glanced

  at the vicar and quickly away. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Simon put his hand on her arm as she tried to slip past

  him. Even as that delicious heat spread through her, she

  shook it off. She must not show any reaction when

  Reverend Fairfield was sure to be watching intently.

  He regarded her with amazement. And why not? She

  had welcomed his touch last night. “What happened to

  you?”

  Bending to gather up a couple of pins, she twisted her

  hair back into place. “It’s nothing,” she said, taking pains

  not to look at the vicar.

  “Then come along. Father would like to see you, too,

  Darcy.”

  “In his private rooms?” she gasped, unable to restrain

  her surprise at this unexpected request.

  “Along with me and Andrew, so
you’ll be properly

  chaperoned.” An edge returned to his voice. “Do come

  along.”

  “Yes,” she replied, although she doubted if he heard

  her as he walked with his cousin toward the stairs closest

  to Hastings’ rooms.

  She followed them, noting again how alike and how

  different they were. As Reverend Fairfield handed his

  greatcoat to a footman, he tugged on his waistcoat which

  was as perfectly pressed as the rest of his clothing. Simon

  looked enticingly mussed, and a hint of whiskers shadowed

  his cheeks as they had last night when he had come to her.

  Simon was speaking with enthusiasm about his father’s

  recovery and his own work while the vicar listened with

  an indifference that suggested he was no more than a mere

  acquaintance.

  When, at the top of the stairs, Simon continued along

  the hallway, Reverend Fairfield paused and offered his arm

  to her with a cool smile. She acted as if she had not seen it

  as she walked past him. Hearing him grumble something

  under his breath—something she suspected was not

  appropriate for a clergyman to utter—she hurried to catch

  up with Simon.

  He put his hand on her elbow, startling her even as

  she could not submerge her delight. As his fingers splayed

  across her arm, he murmured, “After we talk with Father,

  I believe it would be wise for you and me to speak of—”

  “Yes.”

  Bafflement filled his expressive eyes at her enthusiastic

  interruption, but she could not explain she did not want

  his cousin to be privy to any of this. When Reverend

  Fairfield went with them through the ornately painted

  room, she was glad the vicar said nothing to hint at what

  they had discussed in Simon’s office.

  The bedchamber was a continuation of the intricate

  design in the antechamber. Darcy tried to keep her steps

  even as she gazed around herself in amazement. Unlike

  the outer room, this room had not been painted to resemble

  the inside of an ancient tomb. Instead a mural covered

  three walls, edging around the fireplace and the windows

  and doors.

  It was a depiction of a scene she knew so well. Or she

  had known, for the mural suggested the room with its huge

  tester bed commanding the unpainted wall was truly in a

  garden overlooking the Nile. She almost could feel the

  sand beneath her shoes and draw in the odors of animals,