by Sandra Heath
“Oh, I realize that.” He gazed at her in the candlelight.
“I’m told you’ve gone absent without leave from your regiment, and that you’ve also been accused of theft from your fellow officers.”
“My, my, how swiftly bad news travels,” he murmured, flinging himself on the bed and folding his hands behind his head.
“So it’s true?”
“That I’ve been accused and therefore obliged to flee? Yes. But it isn’t true that I’m guilty.” He stared up at the bed canopy for a long moment, then looked at her again. “I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake by deciding to trust you, Olivia,” he said softly.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked, offended.
“Simply that I mislike some of the people with whom you now mix.”
“Who, in particular?”
“Well, shall we start with the person who no doubt told you about my, er, difficulties? To wit, one Sir Brand Huntingford, who just happens to be a bosom friend of the man who really did steal from the army. It was Huntingford who told you, wasn’t it?”
“How do you know I’m acquainted with him?”
He allowed his eyes to slide over her. “Let’s say I observed an exceedingly interesting Twelfth Night kiss in the Black Lion orchard. Lucky Huntingford, although to be sure the fellow does not deserve you.”
Hot color washed into her cheeks, but then realization crept slowly over her. “You were the horseman with the hound! How else could you know about the orchard?”
He gave a faint smile. “The hound’s name is Jasper, and he’s really very amiable, except if he’s cold and hungry, at which times he’s inclined to grumble long and loud.”
She recalled the mournful howl that had so frightened the Black Lion wassailers.
Jeremy drew a long breath. “Huntingford cannot be trusted, Olivia, and I therefore hope that you will not tell him you’ve even seen me, let alone spoken to me.”
Before she could say that she’d already mentioned seeing him at Berkeley, Jeremy went on. “Huntingford is no friend of mine, Olivia, nor, I believe, can he possibly be any friend of yours. You do know he’s Melinda Huntingford’s brother, don’t you? And like Lord Lytherby, he’s intent upon doing all he can to break up the match with your cousin so that Francis can marry Melinda instead.”
“You seem to know a great deal.”
He smiled again. “If you’re consorting with Huntingford, maybe you too have reasons to wish the match to be stopped. Poor Caro, surrounded on all sides.”
Summer’s eyes flashed indignantly. “How dare you suggest such a thing! I only want Caro’s happiness, and as for Sir Brand, he doesn’t even know who I am! Nor, if I have my way, will he ever find out.”
Jeremy was dumbfounded. “He doesn’t know who you are?” he repeated.
“I’ve been at considerable pains to keep my identity to myself,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“Those were anonymous caresses in the orchard?” he said disbelievingly.
“Yes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Now why would you wish to keep your identity from him, I wonder? What have you been up to, sweet Olivia? More than just kisses, I’ll be bound.”
“It’s none of your business.” She eyed him. “It doesn’t really matter what I was up to that night, Jeremy, but what were you doing? I happen to know that a highwayman with a savage hound tried to hold up Sir Oswald and Lady Harvey on their way to Chavenage, and that later that same night at the Black Lion a thief stole Lady Harvey’s diamond necklace, as well as other items.”
Indignation lit his eyes, and he clapped a hand to his heart. “Not guilty, I vow, and it ill becomes you to even think it! As it happens, my purpose that night was simply to speak to you, but you were, er, otherwise engaged.”
“So there were two mysterious horsemen at large in and near Tetbury on Twelfth Night, each accompanied by a large hound? That stretches credulity.”
“I may have had the opportunity to play the thief, but I didn’t have the motive!” He got up from the bed. “Please don’t suspect such ill of me, Olivia. Rogue I may be, but I’ve always kept inside the law, you know that to be so.”
“Yes, I do, Jeremy, but you have to admit that the circumstantial evidence against you would be pretty damning were it to be placed before a court, martial or otherwise.” It would indeed, she thought, for Jeremy would find it virtually impossible to prove himself innocent, even though it was certain that Brand was the real thief.
He nodded resignedly.
“Anyway, I know you are innocent, for something happened at the ball tonight that proves it. Melinda Huntingford was wearing Lady Harvey’s necklace, and said her brother had given it to her. That can only mean that he was the thief at the Black Lion. But that being said, the fact remains that you were there on Twelfth Night, and you have already been accused of theft.”
His lips twisted into a wry smile. “So, light fingers are among Huntingford’s many attributes, eh?”
“It would seem so,” she said unhappily, then she drew a long breath. “Anyway, what did you want to see me about that night? I can’t imagine you intended to take dinner with me after all.”
“I came to seek your help, but then saw you with Huntingford and deemed it prudent not to make my presence known. That’s why I’ve come here instead.”
Jeremy looked at her. “Olivia, the colonel of the regiment is the real thief, and he and Huntingford belong to the same St. James’s club and are like that.” He held up a hand and crossed his fingers. “You must help me, Olivia. Huntingford is eager to blacken my name in order to protect his friend, but I want to prove my innocence. I’ll flee the country if I can’t, for I’m damned if I’ll go to jail for something I didn’t do.”
“Help you? In what way?”
“I want the use of your carriage. I still have one or two friends in Cirencester who may be persuaded to speak up for me.”
“My carriage! But—”
“To go anonymously to and from Cirencester, and if necessary to Southampton, from where I can take passage for America.”
“I don’t know, Jeremy, this has all come as such a shock.”
“I suppose you prefer to believe what Huntingford tells you?” he accused.
She glanced away. “As it happens, I wouldn’t believe anything he told me now.”
His hazel eyes were speculative. “A lovers’ tiff?” he murmured. “Well, I suppose that’s one small mercy.”
“I know I’ve made a fool of myself with him, so please refrain from saying so. About the carriage ...”
“If I have to stoop to reminding you of all the help I rendered you at the time of Roderick’s death, then I will.”
She faced him again, searching his face earnestly in the firelight. “Do you vow that you are innocent?” she asked quietly.
He met her eyes. “Yes.”
Her mind was made up suddenly. “Then I’ll help you,” she said.
“Oh, Olivia!” He hugged her tightly.
She pulled away. “I’m returning to Kensington tomorrow, but you can have the carriage any time after that.”
“But I need the carriage tomorrow!” he cried in dismay.
“If I stay, there’s a real chance of Brand finding out who I am. I believe Brand is as eager as Lord Lytherby to prevent Francis from marrying Caro, and I have no doubt that if he were to learn my true identity, he’d inform Lord Lytherby of my misdemeanors at the Black Lion.”
“All I’m asking is a week at the most. Then by all means return to Kensington if you so desire. In the meantime, I’m sure you have to concede that Huntingford may not find out who you are. Can’t you stay inside and plead illness for that short time?”
“Jeremy, I—”
“Can you reasonably say that a mere possibility concerning him is more important than my freedom?” he interrupted quietly.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I suppose not. Very well, I’ll stay here.”
He smiled with relief. “Thank you, Olivia. Now then, I’ve considered how to do this without causing comment. The nearest coachbuilder is in Gloucester, so I suggest you instruct your coachman to say he’s discovered some fault or other in the axle. Then he is to set off first thing in the morning as if for Gloucester, but instead, just before reaching Berkeley, if he takes the lane that leads to the estuary embankment, I will be waiting by the fox covert. Carriages will converge on this area from all directions tomorrow because of the hunt, and a number of ladies and elderly or injured gentlemen always watch the sport from various points, so no notice will be taken of another vehicle.”
She nodded. “Very well. I hope you prove your innocence and don’t have to flee the country, Jeremy.”
He drew a long breath. “So do I, but I have to fear the worst.”
“You’d better go now,” she said, glancing toward the door as she thought she heard a sound in the passage.
“You will send the carriage as agreed?” he pressed.
“Of course.”
He opened the window and climbed over the ledge to let himself down the sturdy ivy against the wall, which was clearly the way he’d gained entry in the first place.
She watched his shadowy figure slip away into the darkness, then closed the window again and sat before the dressing table to let down her hair. But after one or two pins had tinkled into the dish, she gazed thoughtfully at her reflection in the mirror.
The more she learned about Sir Brand Huntingford, the more despicable he seemed. Fresh tears stung her eyes, for in spite of the anger she felt toward him, there were other feelings that would never be easy to shed. When she’d given herself to him tonight, she’d known what true love was, for no other word could describe the way she felt toward him. But he was a man who did not shrink from treating her with great cruelty.
Not even trying to blink back the tears, Summer went on unpinning her hair and ten minutes later climbed the little steps into the huge bed. All thought of her overlong hypnotic trance eluded her now, for as Olivia she had so much to contend with here in the past that the future and Summer Stanway hardly seemed to exist.
Everything kept whirling around and around in her tired head, but gradually her eyes closed and she fell into an uneasy sleep. But uneasy or not, it was a very long sleep indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
It was dark when Summer at last awoke and immediately realized she wasn’t in her bed at Oakhill House or in the beach apartment. It was nighttime, and she was in a room she didn’t recognize.
Shaken, she gazed around the unfamiliar surroundings. Opposite the bed she could just make out a wooden-armed chair and a table with a TV on it. Then she stared up at what looked like a control panel above her bed. It had earphones wrapped around it, and there were four labeled buttons: BBC Radio, Commercial Radio, Hospital Radio, and Nurse. With a shock she realized she was in hospital.
Why? What had happened to her? Physically she felt lousy. It was always bad when she became her modern self again because of the diabetes and the slow recovery from pneumonia, but this time was infinitely worse. Through the Venetian blinds at the window she could see across to a brightly lit ward where nurses were hurrying to and from an emergency at a curtained bed, but where she lay all was quiet. Subdued lighting slanted through the open door from the corridor outside, where she could hear nurses talking softly together.
Weakly, she raised a hand to press the button for a nurse, then realized she was attached to a drip. Leads from some machine or other were fixed to her chest as well, and after a moment she recognized it as an electrocardiograph. Had she had a heart attack? No, that couldn’t be ...
Her glance returned to the drip. Glucose? Yes, and insulin. Hypoglycemia! But she’d done everything she should before going to bed! She stared at the drip. Yes, she’d done everything she should, but how long ago? Her diabetic regimen was very strict and precise, and something had gone wrong the last time she’d gone back to the past. Had she missed her insulin shot?
A soft sigh drew her attention back to the chair opposite, and as she looked more closely, she saw her sister sleeping there. “Chrissie?” she whispered.
Chrissie’s eyes flew open. “Summer? Oh, thank God, you’re awake at last!”
Before Summer could say anything more, Chrissie leapt to her feet and dashed to the door to call the nurses.
Footsteps hurried, and the night sister came in. She was a small woman in her thirties, with brown curls tucked up beneath one of those strange starched caps that perched awkwardly right on the top of the head. “Ah, you’re with us at last,” she said, switching on the light over the bed and then smiling down. Her uniform was dark blue, with a crisp starched apron that reminded Summer of Gwenny’s at Oakhill House.
Summer blinked in the sudden light. “What happened? Have I had a hypo?”
“You certainly have, my love, but we’ve stabilized you again now.”
“But I’ve been doing everything I was told to do.”
The sister took her pulse and checked the ECG. “Yes, you probably have, but it happens, especially when you haven’t long been stabilized. I gather from Mrs. Marchant that the doctors in America had some difficulty getting you sorted out.”
“Yes, but I was all right by the time I came here.”
“And all your tests have been okay?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing borderline?”
“Nothing at all. How ... how long have I been here?”
“Well, it’s now about three a.m. on Sunday morning, and you came in about two o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
Summer stared at her, for it had been Friday night when she’d last gone to the past.
Chrissie edged to the bedside. “I feel a bit responsible, Summer. You see, after you’d gone to bed on Friday, Andrew and I stayed up very late watching old movies and having a glass or two of that wine we brought back from Burgundy last summer. We slept in the next morning, I mean really slept in, and by the time we got up at midday, you were completely out. We got the doctor who lives opposite, but although he tried all the usual things, he couldn’t bring you around, so we had to get you here to Chichester.”
The sister smiled again. “You’ve been a stubborn one, Miss Stanway, but we won in the end.”
“Can I go home now?”
“Go home? Certainly not. We’ve got to make certain you’re properly balanced again before we allow that.”
“But I am properly balanced,” Summer insisted.
“Then what has all this been about?” The sister raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know.” But Summer did know. It was suddenly only too clear to her what had gone wrong. The distortion of sound when she’d last played the cassette was due to the recorder’s batteries running low. They’d given up completely before the playing of the prompts that would have brought the trance to a close, and so she’d been left in the past. If it weren’t for the diabetes, she’d have awoken normally in due course, but because she was diabetic, instead of waking up she’d gone into a coma.
The sister watched the expressions crossing her face. “Is there something we should know, my dear?” she prompted gently.
“No.”
“Are you quite sure, because if there is, it might be best if you tell us.”
Somehow Summer managed to look the woman in the eyes. “There isn’t anything, truly there isn’t.”
“All right. Now then, you just lie there quietly, and I’ll get the doctor.”
The sister hurried out, and Chrissie came quickly to take Summer’s hand. “I really do feel guilty about this, Summer,” she said again.
Summer squeezed her fingers. “There’s no need, for it isn’t your fault. In future I’ll know to set about six alarm clocks by the bed, so at least one of them goes off and wakes me. All right?”
But Chrissie wasn’t consoled. “It’s just that I feel really awful for quarreling.”
“Stop this right now, Chrissie Marchant. I’
m as much to blame as anyone for not waking up, so that’s the end of it.” Summer’s thoughts ran guiltily on. I’m ten times more to blame, if you did but know it, for all this is definitely down to me, and only me.
Chrissie searched for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “God, this has been the longest day of my life. They kept telling me you’d be okay, but I was convinced you’d never wake up again. In the end Andrew persuaded me they knew what they were talking about, and I felt a little better, but it wasn’t until you actually opened your eyes that I really believed.”
“Well, here I am again, as large as life and twice as ugly,” Summer said fondly. “Where’s Andrew now?”
“He stayed as long as he could, but something important came up, and he’s had to fly to Dublin—something about a seminar after Christmas. He’ll be back tomorrow.” Chrissie managed a smile. “He said to tell you he’d bring you back a leprechaun.”
“If he can squeeze one in along with all the bottles of poteen,” Summer murmured.
“Probably.” Chrissie sniffed.
Summer smiled fondly. “Go home and get some sleep. You’ll feel better then.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’m okay now, so go.”
“But—”
“Go! They’ll do everything for me in here, so there’s no danger of my forgetting anything!”
“That’s true.” Chrissie relaxed enough to give a little laugh and get her coat from the hook behind the door. Then she returned to the bed and bent to kiss Summer’s cheek. “I’ll come back in the morning, and as soon as Andrew’s home, he’ll come in as well.”
“I hope to be out of here by then,” Summer said determinedly.
“I hope so too. Night.”
“Night.”
Alone, Summer drew a long breath and gazed at the control panel. When she first started using the cassette to bring on the time travel, she took account of the recorder failing by relying on waking up naturally, as people always did if they weren’t brought out of the trance after being hypnotized. But she hadn’t reckoned with the trance lingering long enough to take her past the time for her insulin, thus triggering her diabetes and turning the self-induced trance into a diabetic coma!